You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless,
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
cautiously,
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too?
I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
But
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately,
"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke
Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared
Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……
For you
Would have placed
A magic carpet
‘neath your weak and shaky legs
Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again
Would have bribed
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain
Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again
Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old
Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark
And lonely soul
Be the girl
Playing games
In a world
The sun won’t set
Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke
I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day
I’m drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….

Birth was suppose to come easier than this.
I pant quickly as I was taught,
but it isn't helping, nor does squinting my eyes.
But again, the pain evaporates for a moment
like the tears in the corners of my eyes.
It fools me in thinking it is almost over now, and I try to relax.
But all I can think about is my mother
and how different it was for her,
especially, since her young husband was so far away
My back aches, and once again, I look for the owner of the mysterious voice
That voice is my own...
I groan, and the doctor finally makes a quick-fire decision.
I am given a block for the pain, an incision is made,
and although I feel numb, and my mind is foggy,
I can feel someone's hands groping,
... a tug, a void, and then...a small noise... a baby is crying...
The next several hours are a blur
until everything is clear and I'm back in my room
on the sterilized sheets, too stiff, and too sleek,
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleeping.
This miracle I bore, soft as silk, with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, with a deep pang of grief
for another time, another place, a place long ago...
I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own
I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast
The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death
_________________________________________________________
3/14/14

* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.
Little Yellow Socks
by Amy Swanson 12/5/2008
Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!
Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.
Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!
Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.
Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.

They’d …
They’d cuffed me when in error
They’d hold me when I’d be ill
They’d calm me when in terror
They’d wave to make me still …
They’d smooth my hair back on my head
Before the camera’s eye
They’d touch me when I went to bed
They’d sooth me when I’d cry
They’d wash a million dishes
They’d fold a ton of clothes
They’d help me with my wishes
They’d warm my freezing nose
They’d point at things for me to do
They’d help me with my plans
And that is why I miss so much
My Loving Mothers' … hands.

Its Raining…
God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
Amen

My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
and thereafter
Mom

They fought the tide to own this land
A fight I did not understand
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
But yet,…by God,……they owned the pride
In retrospect, I'm still ashamed
It was, my flippant pilgrimage
I had come a stranger to this place
About to step upon the moon,
A cratered space of rocks and sage
Of rolling hills, with no escape
She saw it differently, of course
Although her body weary, worn
Her eyes were strong, ...she saw a home
Her age was then, what mine is now
It had been her home, and it had been her vow
To come again, just one more time.
I was thirteen, and dragged along
I overlooked the great attraction
I could not see the satisfaction
I missed the light upon her face
She saw the youth she left behind
Her gray eyes drinking up the sun,
I saw the dust, I saw the bones,
Where she saw beauty, I saw none .....
Nothing more than a sea of weeds, the crumbling brick,
A place to shuffle my restless feet
But stories came, and they sunk in….
And now I view with wiser eyes…
She told me all these things back then…but now, I smile,… remembering.
They had to fight to own this piece of land
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
And yet,…oh yes,…….they owned the pride
~~
Recited on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY
_______________________________________________________________
For Deb's Contest:....2nd Option..(With age comes wisdom, understanding and
appreciation. I am never too old to keep learning
and value those who came before and made me
who I am.)
______________________________________________________________

The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.

The amber moon, through window glass
like time itself, looks much the same
Some things have changed, some things remain
Moonlight recalls... wind calls her name
Her silken hair, her porcelain neck
the strand of pearls, a diamond clasp
I find them now, within my hand
With envy now, moonlight comes in
Covetously, it fondles rows
of tiny orbs, which, one by one
are miracles, with moons, within
I hold the pearls within my palm
and think of old Glenn Miller songs
and mother dancing long ago
She wore them like another skin
back, long before my life began
A grain of sand, then pearl becomes
A part of her, .... a part of me
So fragile, weak the thread is bare
as if the sun might gaze too long
a tarried glaze, the string would fray
and pearls would fall and roll away
Perhaps such things meant to be
Each miracle, has just a while
Glenn Miller songs have come and gone
I'll put away the pearls for now
so moon can own the night again
____________________________________________
Carrie Richards
To hear Glenn Miller's rendition of "String of Pearls" click on the following youtube site:...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vY4gUhFVNfE

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!
And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks,
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!
It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!
Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
service.
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
here?”
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
crack.
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
ashen.
Today is terrible.
Summer
Gratias

During the Christmas holidays a candle is continuously lit.
It is in your memory to let you know I'll never forget.
Each year that passes gets harder than I like to admit.
I sit by the fire reminiscing while I smoke a midnight cigarette.
Your vanilla scented candle burns on the coffee table.
I admit when you passed I wasn't mentally stable.
You would be proud of me because eventually I pulled myself together.
I remember you warned me so many times you wouldn't be here forever.
You were my superwoman, I believed you were tough as steel.
This candle along with your memory helps me to heal.
It's kinda like you're right here with me.
I think of you as I put each ornament on the Christmas tree.
Tears roll down my cheek as I whisper your sweet name.
Inside my heart resides your eternal flame.
*I love you momma Merry Christmas Queen.....
Billie Jean Alexander Lopez...May 1, 1937 - July 26, 2007

We nurture them within our bodies, birth them in a blinding pain,
suckle them on breasts so swollen, till we think we’ll go insane.
We kiss away each painful boo-boo, bandage each and every wound,
show them that in spite of roundness, peas can stay upon their spoons.
We intercept their nostril’s flowing, be it green or white as snow,
wiping gently ever hoping, for the day they’d learn to blow.
We give to them each ounce of wisdom, try to teach them everything,
suddenly, for unknown reasons, screw it up and give them wings.
We mourn a bit, those cherished moments, when on us they did depend,
days when we were super heroes, possessing wisdom without end.
We watch the journey proudly knowing, as they soar into the light,
Mother’s wisdom, though not perfect, lends the wind that gives them flight.

Once held with love, by hands so small-
You’d hardly know that they were mine;
Her hair, a matted yellow mess
That sticks strait up, from hands and time,
The dress, Aunt Rose knit with gnarled hands,
Still ties up proper in the back,
It hides her scars; so much undone
While keeping dignity in tact,
One of her fingers’ is too short
When I was small, I bit it off;
Her neck’s been stretched from need and love
Which now I hide with velvet cloth,
Her eyes, the same sky blue as hers-
A mother ripped from life and earth-
Who passed away, leaving her child
One blue-eyed doll and no self worth…
Many a year flew by in time-
An adult with kids of my own-
When our house burned, consuming all,
From photos to refuge of home,
There came from ashes, hope reborn-
A beauty with eyes of sky blue,
Covered in suet, fire-scarred but safe,
The only thing that made it through!
A miracle or mothers hand,
That saved her from the fire's embrace?
To place her safe with honor, down
Atop the snow to cool her face,
This doll may look a ragged mess
To those whose tears she hasn't dried,
But when I look in those blue eyes
I see a child’s love, survived…
My Thumbelina, dread locked doll
No other friend could e’er replace
Her love; I love her battle scars,
Where memory lives upon her face…
2nd place winner in Karen Neary's TRASH or TREASURE contest , 5/2008

It had been two days since Christmas
The one where the fates had granted me my fondest wish
A shiny, red, Schwinn bicycle..... a basket in the front, and a bell to ring
On that cold December night, the sky was stained by the color of trepidation
I remember my young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through the mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us downstairs, down the raw-grained stairs,
not tying her robe, pushing from behind with her two hands
out onto the back porch, into the frost of the wee, early light
Then, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage. And, my bike.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose
warning him to keep safe,
while sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Hush now, don't cry"
"We'll find another one, just like it"
Then, I remember looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
________________________________________________________________

Hot jasmine tea
My grandmother liked to drink
Everyday at 10
While tending to ancient herbs and oriental spices
Before Day’s of our Lives
She never understood it but she liked it anyway
And after her afternoon nap
She always had an aroma like that unforgettable liquid
In the green bottle by her bed
While the rice cooks
Steaming white fluff
That chokes your throat when you swallow too fast
Floating along the rice there’s green things
I learned not to ask
You must clean your bowl
She said
Otherwise you’ll end up too skinny and get sick
When the sun hits your head
Eggrolls, plump and short
Loved to waddle around in fish sauce before it jumps into mouths
Just like the chickens with the head cut off that Bac Phoung
Plucked the feathers off accompanying that sticky sweet smell of death
Like sweet cake and dumplings
Stolen from the wrapper
Left on the table that grandpa forgot to put away
Cousins come and go
Hugs and kisses, fights and shows
From 36 of us
We hold games and play with the hammock
Disciplined with chopsticks
We knew better then play Street Fighter all day
Though it’s happened once or twice
New Years is the best however
A dollar from each aunt or uncle
Lasts only but a day
Until the icecream man comes and we spend
Each and every dime
On Bullets, Tweety Shaped Popsicles and Lucas
Ninja turtles and Daffy Duck with bubblegum eyes

They see strengths
Not the limitations
These are people who will make you proud of yourself
They will tell you why you’re special
Trust you to the point you have to answer their expectations
They make you better than you normally are
You can be proud of yourself
They respect you
For what you’ve done
Where you’ve come from
They see what you’ve experienced something real
Respect you for your courage
They live by their rules
They do not expect you to follow theirs
They are at peace to themselves
They are not proving anything to you
They are good listeners
Sincere in their interest in you
You feel important
They are available for honest
Genuine discussion
Makes you want to share yourself

Grandpa’s collage holds beloved memories.
Black-and-white photographs of long ago
strewn with tape and paste amid the glossy
snapshots, shaping a man's love of family.
At first glance, one would think he created
his patchwork of pictures in haste. But come,
look closer; no image is placed by chance.
Each scene shares a story his hands retraced -
a joke, a kiss, a tear. See the toothless grins
of growing grandchildren with playful eyes,
the knowing looks of elders and the effortless
laughter of generations, dear faces missed.
All familiar faces except for only one -
the intruder with graceful features. Head held high,
she wears her smile unfazed. I search her dark eyes
for words unsaid, dazed. She is the grandmother
I never knew. Her portraits are puzzle pieces
that will never fit, but ones I cannot unglue
or ignore; my grandpa’s attempt of tying us
to a stranger. I love him more for trying…
For Craig Cornish's A Collage Held Dear Contest,
10/22/13

I often dream of the garden stretching out
wearing the early morning sun like a crown
I will dream of the sound of a rooster's shout,
and mother barefoot, still dressed in nightgown
pulling a tall weed, while puttering about
looking like a pink cheeked girl, with eyes of brown,
clutching a bouquet to her breast. She would hold
roses, as if they were treasures made of gold
~

Grandma passed along her string of pearls to me.
I knew I've been entrusted with a special gift from her.
Nothing but pride crossed my mind that day.
Taking her pearls from its box, I still feel her love,
Whether it was tender or tough,
It was done with the intent
On making me feel pride within myself.
Grandma cherished her pearls for most of her life.
This was her 'Pearl of Wisdom' she passed down to me,
"Pearls are classy enough for a fancy affair
Or just a simple dinner out.
Diamonds are a girl's best friend,
But don't get between me and my pearls.
The attachment is for life, it's beauty knows no age."
Every time I put on her string of pearls, I still giggle.
03/12/2013

It seems ages since we met over your long, golden hair
an hour glass on the table keeping the meter.
It seems like too many dress up doll days when we played
take me to the river but don’t get our feet wet.
It seems we lost our inner selves painting our faces
painting our nails, singing karaoke at the bars.
Oh, to regain those lost years of our youth, unwrinkled skin
turn back all the pages, like winding gold on a spindle.
Instead we have just leaves, grieves, and grandchildren
with their laser guns, plastic skin and smug attitudes.
They never challenged gamey little midgets with foul intent
they had us to pad them safely with money, love and scent.
Dear Rapunzel, do please let your hair down one more time
and play climb out of the cellar and up the apple tree with me.
Signed Your Dearest Play Mate.

Modest swimsuits, bathing boxes
White-blue flesh ice cold
Scratchy towels, sandy sandwiches
Pots of tea being sold
Foxford blankets, picnic baskets –
A donkey ride on the strand
Flowery summer frocks, mischief brimming
A practical joke being planned
Hesitant breast strokes – high pitched laughter
Terror, delight ‘the cold’! -
Sunburn, windburn, scalded skin –
‘You’ll remember this when you are old’
Your mother is calling ‘the picnic is ready’
‘I’ll be there in a minute’, you say.
As you dive down again under –
The sea bed to plunder -
‘There is treasure down there, Mam’ you say!’
Landladies’ rules, pubs with high stools
‘– A large bottle, sir, if you please -
And may be a chaser?’ ‘You are a disgrace, sir -
The night will blow away with the breeze’.
A day at the races, smiles on mens’ faces,
Jingles in pockets, dinner in ‘Rocketts’ -
A beer and a fag, a joke and a drag –
‘This is grand, Sir!’
Which horse do you fancy – I think Mary Nancy
Called after his missus – and just as delicious
‘A winner for sure, sir
And what are you bettin’? Think of what you’ll be gettin’
When you win on the jackpot –
It is certain, sir!’
Sea-side rock plastic,
Coloured windmills fantastic
Naughty postcards to be hidden
– Their content forbidden,
By your mother –
The day’s nearly over –
You are tired – you’ll recover
For a night at the amusements – you have one and twopence
Clean clothes, polished shoes and a song.

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...
(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)
a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband
who was in exile at the time...
in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...
the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...
one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...
the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay
the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...
the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...
a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...
the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...
by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...
but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...
the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...
the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...
and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...
the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...
she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...
the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...
‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...
the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...
the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...
Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...
then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...
the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...
a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...
the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...
Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...
This was in the mid-1970’s...
Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...
the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...
a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...
a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...
and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...
and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...
hope...
(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

There are no tears,
Cause I held them back,
There is no fear,
Cause all my fears came true
I believe there’s hope
I have to believe there’s hope
Cause losing faith in the future and
What can be when the bird spreads its wings
What can I do if she doesn’t have any faith in me?
What can I do, if everything feels like it doesn’t matter?
I’m trying but it might be not enough
I have being called a traitor
The person I love called me a traitor and I am not
I am not, that thing that I fear.
I don’t wanna die alone
I don’t wanna die like this, cause she doesn’t believe in me.
She set a sentence,
Cause in a dream she saw how I will be just a shell of myself.
But now I’m just a shell of myself.
Just a little part of happiness filters throu the curtains of my disdain and all goes away.
There’s no beam of happiness,
There’s no sunshine of love,
There’s no love for me,
She doesn’t love me anymore.
She who I love doesn’t trust me anymore
And I in a corner I lie alone
This corner of my own creation is not just imagination.
Here I lie and I just desire the best for you, the best for all the good people I’ve met and
who’s lives I’ve made a miserable mess, I deliver my apologies to all those who believe I
hate them or I have being a bad person to.
~Anna

They
sat on the
back porch, in
crates, destined for
market. Grandmother
carefully hand-washed &
dried each egg. When she
had tallied several dozen,
they were taken to the store
in town, which also passed
as gas station & post office.
For her, it was a bit more
than a trip to sell eggs;
it was a time to visit,
gossip & perhaps
choose a new
broom.

As another night dies, I ask how did you sleep Momma?
When nightmares plague your vision, did you sleep ok Momma?
Cold winds howling like a child's fairy tale
Are we little pigs waiting for the wolf in our sleep Momma?
When only the screams, "Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum" thunders with the storm
Where do you run when it wakes your sleep Momma?
When the beanstalk never gets shorter,
When you're so tired you just want to sleep Momma
What do you do when your roses fall to ashes,
Will your heart still sing you lullabyes to sleep Momma?
When Jill never comes down the hill
And the itsy bitsy spider eats Jack, will you sleep OK Momma?
Are we wondering blind like Hansel and Gretel,
Looking for digested breadcrumbs in our sleep Momma?
Who fights your nightmares and rights your fairy tales?
Can we help you sleep Momma

I came into your lives a lost and lonely child,
Full of anger and resentment,
Overwhelmed with fear and confusion.
Yet you took me into your home, your lives, and your hearts.
From the very beginning you tried to make me feel welcome and wanted.
Though I fought you each step of the way you never gave up on me.
Instead you patiently and lovingly took me under your wings,
protecting, guiding and shaping me.
Showing me love and understanding.
Giving freely and openly the praise and affection I so desperately needed.
All the while expecting nothing in return.
As days turned into years you were still there
Making me feel safe and secure,
treating me with respect and fairness,
pushing me to be the best I could be.
And still, there I was fighting you.
Oh, the pain and heartaches you endured at my hands.
Yet there you stood, firm and unwavering.
Never walking away, never giving up.
Always loving me no matter what the cost.
All these years later as I look at my own children
I realize just what you saw and still see when you look at me.
Your Daughter!
I love you.

so this is the way the night tastes...
looking back I couldn't tell,
in pencil at the beginning
worn flights of steps, from before the war
smaller, until they were gone
but in the mirror, my hands
gold rims, bare here and there
out of an echo, knowing
not long after
flecked with red, blue in the depths, and polished...
I see clearly all the pieces of the flower
it was late when we started
plates stacked on shelves
next to the questions
one at a time
once there was a horizon
no color except for gray
at a perfect distance from each other
almost a thousand years later
almost in plain sight
in the summer fields waiting
it would climb up as a shadow
we planned to wait
and to whatever is still standing
the eggshell of light before dark
what was there before
remained closed on its own
along the ridge of the barn roof
only she had forgotten her name
a dried branch of bittersweet
lace on drop-leaf tables
I could not remember
part memory, part distance
leading me to the lake shore
invisible under the hood

_______________________________________________________
Inspired By Charlotte's Contest: "Cut-up/Collage Poems"
and randomly "snipped" from a book by W.S. Merwin
2/27/14

one hour alone
motionless in bath water...
mirrored on water
is the sun of a childhood
reflected in ripples of time
I see my father
a chain saw, a pile of wood
mother is sewing
patches on the family jeans....
swirling quickly, down the drain
~

DONE
The Apple PASTURE
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.
Jay

Destiny ran into my room today
"Grandmother, we had such fun
Swimming and playing in the sun"
Her hair a wavy asterisk
Her lips expounding joy
The burnished bronze of her
suntan
The skip in her walk
I relished her swimming pool
fun and her commitment
to laugh
so simply felt
I saw myself in her decades gone
and then I burned her joy in my eyes
and cherished that she came to
me to share her moment's delight

I miss...
taking care of you.
making your meals and snacks for you.
telling you " Good morning ", each and every day.
taking you to school and wishing you both a blessed day.
picking you up from school,
asking how your day went, and what interesting things did you learn.
making your nutritional assessments, and trying to introduce good foods to you.
hugging you both, and both of you hugging me.
taking care of you when you are sick,
comforting you when you don't feel good.
trying to make your ouwwies not hurt.
the time that we should get to, and should have gotten to, spend together.
the quality in living, that we are suppose to have together.
just holding you.
the tickle fights when you would both tickle me at the same time.
watching and helping you both make awesome artwork.
you both singing, with your beautifully flowing and innocent voices.
tossing you both in the air, only to catch you, while singing,
" I got Aubrey, I got Aubrey, my baby girl "
and " I got Micah, I got Micah, my baby boy "
seeing you both play and invent and build.
watching you ride your bikes.
helping and watching you skateboard.
playing catch with the football or soccer ball.
watching you fill your buckets up with innumerable worms.
just watching you try to catch those slimmy worms.
listening you you both have a belching contest.
listening to you belching the alphabet.
watching you make the armpit farts, and laughing, just like your Uncle Eddie used to do.
taking you both to various places, and to see the natural beauty.
taking you to the Ouachita river to throw rocks.
taking you fishing, and putting the worms on your hooks for you.
watching you hold on to the bobber while you throw the stick fishing pole into the river.
getting you both chocolate covered donuts at Jimmy's Donut Hole.
getting to teach you both good things.
mowing the grass for you to be able to play safely outside.
telling you to pick up your rooms, and to put your clothes in the hamper.
cleaning your rooms for and with you.
organizing your good toys, and throwing out the broken ones.
buying you new clothes, and giving away the ones you'd outgrown.
telling you that I love you, before you go to sleep.
wishing you blessed and peaceful sleep, every night.
But most of all, I miss you.
Each and every day, I miss you.
May you both be blessed,
by The Holiest of Holies Himself,
in every area of your lives.
Love Mom

Raintears run down
the cabin window,
and the lights go dim
for departure.
It's twilight here
on the ground and the sun
has just set behind
the western mountains.
The plane taxies around in the rain
for its takeoff run.
In a few minutes we will be up there
in the pearlescent clouds
attempting to catch the sun
with the same success I had
catching memories the last two days.
On down the runway now,
a little hitch,
and we've left the ground,
good-bye, my mother, forever.
We fly over darkening roads,
lights just turning on,
that I had traveled earlier
in a groundling's stupor,
filled with the images of
a slow morning on the porch.
The air was cool and the sun
was warm on our faces as
we sat there,
you and I.
I knew it was the last time and
I think maybe sometimes
you knew it too.
We watched the world go by
and you tried to remember
from moment to moment
who I was.
So I made one last attempt
to grab some memories
out of the deep,
and place them
at your feet.
Shared moments, shared jokes,
shared times and places, some you fumbled,
but, for awhile you began to make connections,
and remembered and
I was ecstatic that
you were still there.
I held back my tears
so that you wouldn't see
how hard this was for me.
Yet, I could see the strain on your face
as you fought, as you always had,
to give me all your best.
I knew then, I had to let you go.
It was selfish of me
to hold you in this world,
that you would not remember
in an hour.
I sit here safe, flying into a storm.
And you down there,
head into the unknown.
My plane races into the light,
just ahead of the night.
Good-bye, my mother, forever.

Naughty little brother hitting people just for fun,
Soppy little sister snuggles up to harassed mum,
While other sister Lesley thinks she’s in a royal court,
And “Ten Ton Tim” throws the tennis balls he’s bought,
One hits little Lesley on the head with quite a force,
She storms off to her room, in a nark again of course,
She slams the door behind her once she’s made her way upstairs,
And then there’s the twins, I know that trouble comes in pairs,
Michael’s riding Richard with his undies on his head,
While Craig from down the road is wearing swimming trunks instead,
“Ten Ton Tim” then offers the other boys a fight,
One which probably won’t finish until very late at night
“You and Craig onto me!”; a tempting offer to the boys,
Who start to rush towards him brandishing their army-toys,
Lesley reappears from the dark behind the door,
Intending not carry on moaning any more,
Dad is quite sensible at stays at work ‘til dark,
I think it’s more crowded here than in Noah’s Ark.
Mother calls for quite but the noise just carries on,
‘Til Craig suggests they go to his and then the rabble’s gone!
(Written at the age of 9 or 10)

We went to Grandma’s house the other day!
And brought some gifts along the way!
We enjoyed our time and our wonderful visit
We’re glad we had time with her!
We wouldn’t miss it!
We took her out and did some shopping in town…
There were some good buys waiting to be found!
We had a chance to have dinner with her too!
This was an opportunity we wanted to do!
We had a chance to talk about the days of past.
Our memories of her,
is something that will last!
We enjoyed our time with grandma! Yes we did!
She always has something
worthwhile to give!
We thank the Lord for a special grandma like this!
Our times together have been happy and bliss!
Please take good care of her Lord, is our prayer!
Keep her in your tender mercy and care!
We look forward to the next time
we spend together!
She’ll always be our grandma!
Today and forever!
By Jim Pemberton

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze
I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.
Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.
From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.
On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.

double Chaney Lugosi and Karloff
those four are the most known monsters all time
and each monster they portrayed had spinoff
I grew up with those monsters on prime time
my mother saw them in the theatres
I saw them years later on the tv
the Cheneys’ monsters hasn’t been better
today the classic monsters hard to see
those monsters like poetry my fine wine
my mother enjoyed Dracula the most
Abbott and Costello met Frankenstein
all the monsters today are way to gross
Lon didn’t want his son to follow him
the wolfman out lived his father’s phantom

I waited every day
Hoping to see your face,
But I never saw it again.
You were supposed to
Be there for me, you were
Supposed to love me.
Momma, what did I
Do wrong? Why didn't
You love me anymore?
You left me with strangers,
Walked away from me
When I needed you to stay.
You let me down
In the worst possible way,
It hurt so much.
Even now my beating heart
Still breaks when I think
Back on those days.
Those days when I waited
To see your face just one
More time but never did.
Those days when I wished
You were her, hugging me,
Telling me she loved me.
But it's over now and I'm
Doing okay, I swear that
I will never be just like you.
You who chose her drugs
And alcohol over the one
Thing you should've chosen.
But it's too late for regrets,
And it's funny, after all this
Time, I can't seem to hate you...

I remember the smiles
From a thousand miles,
The crowd that gathered,
The smiling baby to be fathered,
The blessings made,
That their hopes do not fade,
I heard the general chorus,
The strength, the happiness, the force.
But a different group,
Came in a huge troop,
All, new faces of a different birth,
To witness a fallen strength.

This Lovely Vase>
This lovely vase
So delicate and fine
Shines now by the window.
This lovely vase
Has known more years than I
Known the touch of many
This lovely vase
Once a Wedding present
So my Nana said
This lovely vase
Once stood with flowers tall
Nana’s home grown blooms
This lovely vase
A careless touch and then
Fragments on the floor
This lovely vase
Pieces now were gathered
Mended then with gold
This lovely vase
As it sits there on the window
Catching sun’s bright glow
This lovely vase
More lovely than before
Now trimmed in gold
This lovely vase
Healed by the scars of time
Still with grace and beauty

Nana told me once
how she and Pop-pop
went courting in a
horse-and-buggy.
How quaint I
thought, and was a
bit
amazed how far we
humans have gone--
from a smelly
plodding horse to
crossing
an ocean in an
afternoon six miles
high.
Then Grandma told me
something shocking:
she said they went
out in that carriage
to make love! Nana!
I gasped silently,
until I saw she
meant the words
literally:
my grandparents went
courting to make
the love that would
hold them together
for sixty-three
years...and I am
here
because two young
people took long
buggy rides behind a
tired, smelly horse.

My Mama she trips out in the moon light
when I’m safely tucked up in bed
she dresses to wow her audience
but I know not of her occupation
when I ask I am greeted by silence
and then “You will understand when you grow up”
My Mama she returns at break of day
before the curtains begin to twitch or draw
she’ll come in exhausted and fix my breakfast
then checking in on me she’ll wake me for school
before she goes off to bed – she’ll see me later
to ask about my day and play
A Mamas kiss, a smile, a hug, warmth, food and a roof
Yet when we go out together people turn
to talk to one another, quietly nodding
Funny looks are cast our way and yet not one shall speak to us
Aged nine in school I find out why
when another child will laugh
“Ya Mama works the streets
lies on her back, watches the sky – to feed ya
-Tis what my Ma said”
It makes me cry
I love my Mama
but this shame hurts
I want to die…

See Me Again
"Ghost Town Treasure"
Was my fav'rite book
You'd read it to me
At the end I'd plead
You'd read it again.
The beach! Such pleasure!
A picnic you took
To eat by the sea
At the end I'd plead
You'd take me again.
My birthday that year
Two snowball cupcakes--
Best birthday I've had
'Oh, Thank you!', I'd plead
And you would just grin.
Ghost pillow-case shear
On Halloween days
Paper bag full...sad
At the end I'd plead
You'd take me again.
And ever watchfull
Over years I find
Your face...mine...one look
At the end I plead
'Mom! See Me again!'
Times' hands did Not pull
My face to your mind
Or reading my book...
At the end I plead
And you just grin.
~Deborah Burch
4/01/2012
*This poem is dedicated to all the children and spouses of Mothers (and wives) with ALZ...and to the awareness of its heartbreaking torment. Hopefully one day we can prevent it, cure it -- stop it! To all Mothers everywhere and especially those with Alzhiemers' Disease (ALZ): HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 2012!!!
For: ~PD's "Mother's Day Contest" part 1
Form:verse

No One Told Me
A cement block is tied to my heart
Need a running start
At night my voice carries like a lark
Death’s arrow has hit its mark
My life is so dark
The side of the ocean is full of sharks
Some days I feel like such a tart
I used to be such a sweetheart
No one told me life would be so hard.

Dave...The armed robber
Bank robber
Back in sixty-three
Would leave me sleeping muvva
For much skullduggery
Raiding banks, petrol stations
And very auften...I swear
He even raided
The new joint
Called............ Mothercare
And wake his giant angel
Who very loudly snored
With booties bonnets mittens
And cardies, she adored
One day they got raided by many Old Bill
Dave got all panicked
Bout the money he did steal
Muvva said dont worry' i know the perfect place'
(she pulled out the chicken roasting)
A grin upon 'er face
She stuffed its hole with money
Whilst Dave let in, The Bill
She stood there trying not to grin
As Dave looked slightly ill
They searched high and low
Even toilet system
But never checked the fowl
Most glorious, which
Very smoothly glistened
They even praised Ma's roast
The aroma was devine
They said how they hoped
Theirs would be arf as fine
Off drove the coppers
Ma, Dave raced to the chicken
Pulled out all the dollar
Whilst happily finger licking

You ask me now to sum the beauty in sun's eyes
And make of love the distinction that love despise
And all figures come only to my praise of the gift
God gave to Adam, when he unreplenished, adrift
Midst loneliness and impotence, found sleep blessed
To wake and find his rib enclothed with loveliness
Would you call the virgin mother frigid, cold
Who felt God's heat and furnished men his gold
Zeus too often imitate and did not once procreate
Beyond the fiction of the mind. All flesh fornicate
That cannot yield like Mary did to quiver and moan
To bear the first command to all; all pleasures groan.
The stigma then maligns my rib and cuts my breast
For only truth is beauty in all her virgin comeliness
Undemured, undefiled, stained by circumstance, and pure
The heart aches for beauty and found in Eve no cure
Just Mary Magdala, my passion's patient bride
Goddess of the penitent, queen of desire's tide
That like the moon brings sweet glow upon my bed
She copulates with the sun, and trees that naked shed
Themselves, like arthritic Simons, pay in rich spice
To luxuriate in the pleasures of her passion and vice.
What then her breached external form a little stained
The rich stream of heaven kept not disdained.
Measure this then against rebellious Eve, who crave
Man's pleasure but disdained to concieve; the rave
Of her autonomy to be as god, and provoked the earth
To crown an Astarte, Anat, Venus, Aphrodite as worth
To which some like Delilah or Helen made men bow
And worship in wine drenched mud the grovelling sow
Think of it, I never thought my mother panted or sweat
To shed a seed, for her purity repudiated such a threat
That I was concieved by the pleasure that first the pain
Mother is too chaste, and stainlesss all mothers remain
The mind rare permits sister or daughter expansion of gene
And yet unweb the stigma projected unto the queen
And where the stigma sits their lolls the brooding heart
Aflamed, the loins deep ocean longing to break apart
The solid rock that love strike to feed the egg athirst
The tongue languishing to bulge night's breast in verse
The hand to strip the curtain from the flesh, the skin
To meet as one, joy in joy, and love in love enmeshed.

When I'm home sick, sulking half the day because your not here,
And getting sadder if I say madder because your not there,
I remind myself in an unusual way theres worse fared,
If you don't mind being compared,
Repeating the many ways you cared,
The experiences fondly replayed in many ways,
Thoughts and memories that make me gay,
Every recipe, every taste,
Looking back it all seems in an awkward haste,
Now it is what I use to fill my plate,
It's what I use so I won't be late,
Staying here learning to appreciate,
All the miles, trucks caring freight..
For your Christmas gifts the children just can't wait,
But if you visit my mind would quake.

Sometimes I sit and ponder
what it may be like
to have parents, not always
looking for a petty fight
the love you feel, always
being there for you
day o' night
I wake up fighting a
constant battle,
I feel like I am in a circus
having to jump through hoops
my parents hold
to earn their admiration and
approval
Earning their gold star
for the day
I was a rebel since day one
not trying to conform
dancing to the beat of a
different drummer
Wishing to be accepted
for who I want to be
and how I seek to spend my hours
nothing I ever do, seems to be good
enough
They talk about "emotional deposits"
i.e. spending time with them
but they spend too much time
picking and proving
reacting wrong, saying ignorant assumptions
they push me away, each day
'further and further I go
as soon as I make enough money
I'm gone
They act as if my artistic mind
couldn't make money
like my dreams are distant relatives
of which I will never meet
but I strive to prove them wrong
Its bad enough being
one person versus the world
but when the army you fight
is led by your family, your blood
it's twice as hard to get up
in the morning, when the suns
rays dance on my closed
eyelids
I try my best to be the kind
of person I want to be
despite their efforts to kill off
my individualistic soul
I have given up trying
to belong to which I
was born unto
I'm simply playing the game
Hoping to win, one day
the chance to be myself
as I feel emulates me,
and regardless
have a proud
Mommy and Daddy
I do pray, I shall be
free to be
Heather Rose Marie

I may not be at home with you
'though it does not mean that you're not near
I recollect those things you've done
For me throughout the years
You've picked me up when I've fell down
and soothed my broken spirit;
played games and taught me how to grow
Worked hard to feed us with it
So my heartfelt thanks are in these words
as I think of you this way;
and all my love is sent to you
All year, not just today.

When mom would make her apple pies, and I was very small
I would stand upon a kitchen chair, so that I could see it all
She would open up the Crisco can, and a flour canister
And soon, before my very eyes, some pie dough would appear
She would roll the dough, line her dish, then let me have a try
She would save a piece of pastry for a doll sized dish I prized...
Side by side, she would show me how, but mine would be a mess!!
Her patience was amazing.…. as she sought to grant my wish
The petals of her apple slices, layered neatly into rows
Most of mine in disarray, some landing on my toes!
A sparkling touch of sugar sweet, and some golden butter bows
Such praise I got, ....the oven hot, .....then off to bake it goes...
We’d watch them turn a golden brown…as love filled up my nose

Winter is also celibate. The conscience is moving,
A frozen light in a frozen eye. It's raining much looser,
Down a ripped tree. I couldn't have,
I couldn't have, in this sin-sick tenderness.
___
My face is cracked in my fawnlike fingers;
And the nose betrays an inner child, who
Wouldn't listen to sparrows about being catched.
I just insisted fur was wings.
___
The feminine chill on the palm must be sorrow;
When I think of church bells, or mother-
That I am haunting as raw love.

**~~**
The balmy summer breeze
Gently caresses the harvest saffron moon
While it dreams memories of autumn’s golden red kiss
Trees are shedding their emerald green summer tresses
Kindly kissing the Earth as their garments fall gently below
And flowers have shed their vivid colorful dresses
As crimson amber leaves gently anoint the ground for show
While Summer sheds her beautiful clothes -
Mother Nature lovingly seduces her to dream
She's kissed the shore with her elegant colorful attire
She has painted the world with her exquisite apparel
So now it's time for her yearly seasonal retire
She paraded us with her resplendent painted scenes
Blessed the birds in their angelic symphony of songs
So now -it’s time for her to drink the dreams of slumber
Taking the cup of restful sleep - is now where she belongs
She asks the moon to wait patiently...
For her splendid colorful return
When she'll paint the world with her radiant painted tresses
Where once more her regal colors will burn
She'll brush the Earth in regal glorious colors
Dressing up again in her brilliant, picturesque dresses
As the ruby red blaze of autumn begins to kiss the Earth
With her dazzling hues of gold and coral valor
But before she goes...
She gently reaches out with her one last caress...
Softly whispering as she sweetly kisses the moon
”It’s time now for fall - it’s time for me to undress”
She softly breathes her dulcet ending tune...
"Goodnight", she gently whispers ...
"I’ll see you soon Mr. Moon
Please...will you wait for my return?
Quietly - she drifts into her splendid, peaceful dreams…
Slumbering peacefully -
Safely harbored in Mother Nature’s loving arms
As mellow zephyrs gently caress autumn's waiting whispers
While the moon drizzles its shimmering dusty charms
Serenading nature with his soft silvery tune
As this luminous gleaming Luna Mister
Cordially opens his welcoming hands
To September's colors of orange and golden browns
Awaiting the arrival of dancing petals
As he gently embraces autumn's leaf draped lands
Next he’ll greet the season’s sister
From the pristine silverblue Northern Isles...
Awaiting dancing ivory snowflakes he'll cheerfully greet winter
With his warm welcoming golden smile

I write to you my self,
Sending you myself
With words that I long for you
Need you and care about you
Hope you, miss you, and want
To share my heart, my life
With you, all these written
On a piece of paper
Capsule in time, in a bottle
On the way to you
Somewhere some time
You shall get it.
Floating across
The seven seas
In lost time…

Whenever middle-age recalls youth
with its long, exciting and carefree days:
we remember that we lived them in our own ways;
our parents argued that it wasn't astute...
have they forgotten how they shamelessly lied
to get some romantic kiss before it actually died?
Before the invention of television most folks were moody...
there were only radios and vinyl records to listen to,
so the dreamy heart would sing and not be blue;
amazingly today, everything is digital due to high technology.
Even grandmother admitted of kissing her sweetheart over
a few Strega Liqueur drinks before falling face-down on the lawn;
she didn't get caught and that secret has remained with her
until now and blushing she tries to smile, remembering that frown.
Whenever middle-age recalls youth as being innocent and free of all woes...
it may surprise you how it went hand in hand with progress;
in the sixties, Rock & Roll was considered evil and scandalous,
but our frantic moms adored Elvis for his attire and gentleman's manners.
* Strega is an Italian Herbal Liqueur
Translation: The Witch's Liqueur

The air is drunk on the scent of trellised roses
Snails draw trails on a rain soaked white washed shed
Shapes draw eerie life like human poses
Stars reside among white clouds overhead.
I saw her framed in the arbor in your garden
Chatting with kids now raising kids of their own
Her visit did not illicit a word of pardon
She would be proud to see how they have grown.
My shadow a shimmering path across the grass
Invited me into worlds now torn apart
But present tense reigned over memories past
As my mind bowed gracefully to my longing heart.
I was not surprised or saddened by her presence
She is ever present in all that matters most
At times like this when I feel her very essence
I wonder who's alive and who's the ghost.

It burns and it stings.
It hurts.
More than drowning beneath
the ice.
More than remaining in a
kindled flame
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why?
It burned and it stung.
The markings remained,
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little
known loathing were the known
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the
child that cried
Never was their relief for the
child that tried
You were that lovely bird that
understood the complications of
felicity
Nothing looked the same in
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears
of joy.
The others-they were yet to
appear.
Caring Mother, o' so fair
You were that beautiful bird
filled with care.
The others came and were not
alone. Their two suitors sat on
the throne.
Rampage and rage why did you
come?
I began to wither and wither
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a
human raceme.
The droops of the Lily of the
Valley became the slumping of
my heart.
My lovely bird the enemy had
taken you and the person you
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its
intricate self and you became
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
Mother, Mother what moved
you so?
Your intense spirt vanished only
to supplement a monster.
Mother, Monster and your tar
filled lungs.
How did I kill that liver that was
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you
turn?
My lovely bird and your big
brown eyes
I'll tell you once, but never
twice.
Pain is only a flower for it
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as
quickly as lice.
You dear bird hurt me well.
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest
strength.
You brought me up, then you
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you
down in your deep black
slumber.
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights.

I was born underwater with lungs oversized,
With gills immature in a world full of smog,
I'm filling petition to be cauterized,
And end other chapter in life’s fragile log.
I was born black and white with extremities gray,
The plaintiff accuses what I might hide,
It's nothing but SOUL constantly at play,
With spoonfuls of turquoise rolling down off life's slide...
Implosion of rainbows will probably be
The cause of my passing unknown and alone.
When thrown overboard and deep into sea
I'll finally return to my home long time gone...
I've moved in a place with no windowless chamber,
Where time has no meaning and waiting is painless,
If I had any hopes, I swear - don't remember...
And don't recognize him, his sorrow is senseless.
I have died underwater, reborn in blue nights,
Don't need oxygen to play with the whales.
Remember when watching those great Northern Lights
That Mother is smiling behind Nature’s veils.
for Constances contest "Mother"

This Day, Was A Holy Day
As Crystal Drops Came Down
A Beautiful Display
And Soothing Sound
Like An Echo of Joyous Children
Or A Drum-Roll Softly Nearing
Or Like Angels Were Cheering …
That’s What … It Was Like Hearing !
And It Poured Like A Pitcher
Cool, and Smooth and Clean
Slanting On My Window
Inspiring Me To Sing:
- - - - - - -
“ Pitter-Patter, Pitter-Patter
Today … Nothing Is The Matter
Plop, Plop, Splatter, Splatter
Inside, We’re All Together
Washing Away Every Tear
Rinsing Away, Every Fear
Refreshing Every Year …
… Raindrops, Touched Our Dears “
- - - - - - -
This Day, Water Came In Streams
But No Thunder or Lightning Screams
Just Innocent, Wistful, Wet Dreams
And Later, Rainbow Gleams
(And Waiting For Tonight’s Moonbeams) …
Today … Was A Holy Day
As Crystal Drops Came Down
A Beautiful Display
And Soothing Sound …

When I was just a little child,
In distant bygone years,
Sometimes I'd wake up in the night
And cry out in my fear,
When all those nameless forms
Around the darkened room would play,
Then I'd feel Mother's arms around me,
And I'd hear her gently say,
"They're just night shadows--
They're nothing you should fear.
They're just night shadows,
And you know I'm always near.
They're just night shadows,
They'll flee the morning light.
They're just night shadows,
And night shadows always vanish with the night..

It may seem strange to write about a battered old saucepan
but this was no ordinary one
it sprung a leak the other day
sadly without thinking
I threw it away
and now it's gone.
It had been in my family
before I was born
and it was used every day
it broke my heart after
to throw it away.
For all the delicious soups goulash and past
it had contained
the mouth watering delectable smells
from the kitchen
the shouts from my parents
''Come on now set the table dinners made''.
All the red hot broths and porridge we'd scoff
before school on a winters day
all the laughs tears and conversations around
the dinner table before it was was washed
and put away.
It was more than a simple saucepan
because it held a lot of family memories
now my parents sadly passed away
it was one of the last things to remind me
of how things used to be
and mow I have to buy a new one
and accept it's demise
like my family
it's gone forever.
Peter Dome.copyright.2012.

Midnight in my window, shines gold in the room
With a white-washed patina, to soften the gloom
Sounds of the rafters, speak like old friends
And the paleness of moonlight is brought by the wind
Clocks ticking onward, not missing a beat
will chime every hour, remind and repeat
I sit in the dark, and hear every creak
And the heart of a house has fallen asleep.
I fondle the arms, of a chair from the past
Like something remembered, with moments to last
My chair is a remnant from yesterday's child
Restored and now cherished to bring me a smile
It keeps me in rhythm, this midnight in June
I think how she rocked me, to lullabye tunes
She sat in the dark, under a soft velvet moon
With me in her arms, I can picture the room
I can't quite recall, but the moment is charmed
I was held to her breast in soft velvet arms
The rocking of rails, against the hardness of floor
Returns all my thoughts, to reflect on once more
The rhythm the same....there is gold on the grain
There is gold from the past and gold on the glass
The moon watched time pass, through an old window pane
______________________________
6/13/14
For The Contest "Midnight Hour" sponsored by Kelly Deschler

She left me in the empty darkness
So lost in the world I search for her,
An invisible force drags me to the forlorn eagle,
Both our chains bond together
And Eagle and I entwine our souls,
Thus we embark on our desperate journey,
We ascend over peaked rising mountains,
And failing White clouds,
Searching for the unknown piece,
That has chained us to the ground,
Gazing through his eyes in the sky, we see her,
We watch her nurture the flowers on the land,
So provoked we christen to her in the weightless air,
Sensing my voice she lifts her porcelain head,
Familiar of her smile I sense a separation commence,
Zooming in on her face I feel the knots tighten,
Disillusioned By the sight of her eyes,
There is nothing but despair,
And once again we ascend over peaked rising mountains,
And failing white Clouds,
Searching for that unknown piece,
That has chained us to the ground,
And fixated on the earth we spot her,
And once again we christen to her in the weightless air,
Discerning us in the Violet sky,
She Smiles and signals us to come,
The knots begin to loosen,
But as we progress closer I hear her call my name
Listening to her foreign voice I flee,
So distressed by this misconstrue event,
My hope begins to diminish with the clouds,
So we flee to the forgotten rock,
And sit on the rusted gray stone looking unto the sky
And watch history reveals itself through the stars,
And we travel back in time to obtain her,
We wish to feel her presence,
To touch her delicate soft skin,
And to have her hold us once more in her arms,
But as we search through time and space,
I cannot find one sole essence of her Existence

Jo Davis
No messy bathroom greets my sight,
unnmade bed, nor lit night light
Sandals and trainers all packed away
A pick up by Oxfam, planned today
Boisterous noise has been replaced
Deafening silence now fills this place
The six o’clock alarm has come to a stop
with no school run to hurriedly drop
All grown up, and far away
Just memories left of yesterday.

When is he going to understand
that life is harder than what our eyes can see.
Its work, its pain, its suffering,
Its love, its time, its energy.
When..
When will he know the struggles life brings
When..
When will he feel the love that I feel
the pain that I feel
the anger I feel
When..
When will he learn the responsibility of life.
Its not always easy to provide.
There are times when its much easier to give up.
When..
When will he have children all his own
and learn to take care of them just as I did.
When will he hold me and say
I love you, thank you for all that you've done.
When..
When will he know that it was all done for love.
When my heart beats no more and my body lies still
Will you still love me?
Will you still see me?
Will you wonder why
When you were little why I held your hand so you wouldn't cry.
Why I would kiss you and then smile.
Life is too short to ponder what, when, where and why.
So I leave you this message
So when you are older and wiser
You'll read whats in it
and maybe then you'll understand
just why I did it.

Our lives are like stories
Like the ones found in books
We all play our part in the plot
But you were a bit more than just a character
Babe, you were a chapter
Chapters begin and end so quickly
So fleeting, like the way we would flirt
A heart-pounding beginning with a dry, cold close
I'm saying good bye
This is for every time I could have cried
This is for every night that you forgot I exist
But I haven't shed a tear on you and, boy, I'm not gonna try
This is for every single mean thing you say
This is me deciding not to pretend I'm looking the other way
This is something I'm doing for me
So good bye, cause no longer will I be the girl who is blind
The chapter has sealed itself shut
So sit in your room and play some mean songs about me
I don't care, I know somebody with nicer hair
As a kid you must have been the bully on the playground
I'm done being the girl you give affection to and push down
And I'm tired of standing on the sidelines while you try to run the show
I'm gonna move on with my life
Prove there are things you will never know
There are things that books can't tell you
Things only the heart can understand
You don't have one of those
So, pardon me, if I don't consider you a man
The chapter has ended but I won't shed a tear
The future's too bright for me to look back to darkness

Horizontal Vertigo --
amongst the wet raked leaves,
Gazing into gorgeous blue;
where clouds --
Are passing frogs or horses;
In a pair of grass-stained Levi’s.
A subtle wind --
Tickles all the colored leaves,
So drenched in spattered sunlight;
Still falling --
As she rakes the cooling leaves;
So brilliant --
Over happy giggles.

Heirlooms, these old cards
with her lovely penmanship
Snippets of advice
still live in delicate lines
where love is immortalized

*dedicated to PD.
About this Poem
Sadie was my stepmother and she and I were first cautious acquaintances , then friends, later good friends, later still best friends, then (for a bit) enemies, then... mother and daughter. I miss her. Some families are given. Some are made. Sadie died of Leukemia. My father joined her two years later after a battle with colon cancer. I often take out her letters and cards---she always added so much to those store-bought cards. She lives in those words of love. I hope, PD, you have something similar from your stepmom, pictures or letters—they can really help!

The beat of Mother Nature’s heart is in a rhythmical pattern,
Echoing around the forest through the song of birds.
My hair sways with the gentle breeze,
And the glistening sun shines down upon me,
The screams of joy and happiness carry on through the field, until it reaches me.
And I find that life isn’t always about the sufferings of humanity
But it can be about simple things; the adrenaline that courses through a small child as
they run through the grass
And when you look at trees, you think of their age and what they’ve seen.
The knowledge that they must have is formidable,
Yet it’s comforting to know that something so silent, holds a thousand secrets.
Each leaf tells a story, and dies in the seasons.
For new children come with their tales to be made
And the birds that surround the branches sing in harmony with Mother Nature.
It’s here, in this moment, that I realise there is no God.
Mother Nature is purely a personification of a child’s innocence.
For we, humanity, are our own God.
And our holiness surrounds us, in every breath we take.
In every thought, and every image we capture.
A secret, to be told.

As I grow older my memories become more veiled and sometimes lost.
But the best are yet to come as I write them down, of that I can’t ignore.
For my most cherished memories I’ll pass down, as the stories continue to stir.
Like the wonder I felt as a child… while sailing leaf boats down a creek.
Where would they end up? Would they find they’d sailed to foreign lands?
Or would they be defeated by the storms as they came rolling in?
Later I was awed by the thought that my future hubby would even talk to me.
We were so very bashful; that we were lucky, that we even came to be.
The trick was we were first friends…then, willing to hold together in the winds.
We became like one little leaf boat fighting together against the storms, again.
Then we became parents trying to raise our children with wonder in their eyes.
So we started by finding a creek where their leaf boats would be near, to find.
Eventually grown, they finally left us, so I sent them poems about those little boats.
Perhaps to help remind them: to start new memories for their brood, coming close.
Maybe even to remind them that life could still bring them wonders, too, once more.
Eventually, we will all sail away in one way or another, to distant shores.
I hope my poems will lead them, to where those wonders can still be found…
They will be able to find them by a creek with leaf boats floating around.
I hope it will bring them memories; again, of the days we held them so close.
And had read to them the stories… I had written for those, I love the most.

This is for the women
Who showed us the way
Who made us a snack after school every day
The ladies that love us
Through worst and the best
The ones strong and lovely with whom we've been blessed
The women that smiled
When we brought dandelions home
That pointed a direction, but let us roam
The females with callused hands
Hardworking and gentle
Minds always open, never judgmental
The women who held us
Dear to their hearts
Who would never let anything tear us apart
The ladies that kissed us
When our knees started to bleed
Showing us family is all that we need
This is for the mother's, the mommy's, ma's, madre's and mum's
The ones that have shaped us into what we've become

Grey slender almost blue as embers
Pouncing in the greener yard~
Faithful He was oh so graceful
Past a concrete curb to wander
Into streaming metal garb ~
Where did he go,
Still no one knows
But she believes she’s found him ~
A carbon-copy of a cat,
If you could just imagine that;
So sure that he is
Smokey.

There is a glare of stray sunlight
daring to reverberate
through spiderwebbed glass I haven't
found energy to fix
in the span of four years.
It is too much of a mirror,
too tangible a thought,
to make new.
It's lithe fingers, thin and bony,
and mockingly bright,
steal over embossed cardstock that arrives, like clockwork,
in deepest sympathy.
And a thornless bouquet of pastels laden with
Babies Breath
only draws on blood long lost;
nobody seems to comprehend such an allegory,
or lack there of,
so it can't be carried
over the steps.
"Bloodless On Mother's Day"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Born a wee bit 'early' like a crocus
covered in the snow of March
and unwelcome stranger am I to a
clue less world, child of the Jew.
A wee bit early for proprieties sake
yet, Mother never admitted such
to her dying breath.
Bit 'early' the Mainiac's
would say "ayah?"
like a daffodil in a soft, wet, ripe
spot of humus in the sun.
A bud of brightness, but, out of place.
Crocus croaking beneath the weight
of prejudice a hybrid combine
of drink and mind
covered in the after birth of woman.
In the snow's furnace Mother was born also.
Child of German extract and Mayflower heir.
Of March mother new little, raised at the foot of Mt. Battie
and unwelcomed except by she was the
stranger.......
Am I not, the child of 'pickled madness', aye.
To a clue less world was I born.
Clue less as to the exotic mix
world child as are so many now
of the Jew.
* New Form each line begins with words in order
taken from the first verse.
**See About the Poem

The Guardian of the Morning Light,
Creeps out of his little space warm and soft.
No one will waste that precious morning light.
Our little fur ball will see to that.
Oh ye of little sleep…
Give up the covers or ye will weep.
The door becomes his drums,
To announce the morning rays of the sun.
He wakes the dogs up to whine and pace,
Eventually they will lick our face.
The window curtains will begin to part till they…
Shower our faces and eyes with light… not soft.
Then the bed begins to shake…
As everyone begins the climb to our face.
But the secret weapons are about to come in.
The kitty has awoken the little children.
Cold feet assail us as they climb in place.
The dreams of a cuddle are now replaced…
But tomorrow will be another day
If I could only find a place to keep him at bay.
ZZZ’s are the treasure of days gone by…
But the future is richer with all these guys.
Now, if only, the Guardian of Light will be polite
And give us one more minute of sleepy respite…

During the years that I had lived
many friends I have had;
some nice, some good, some bad...
ah! being friendless is very sad!
Beside family...who else
will remember what I've achieved,
perhaps a stranger reading
my works too lucid and intense?
I have honored many unnotorious folks like humble mother,
and the ones who have touched me in ways nobody has...
having been an innovator, not much of a shaker,
readers will uncover the true meaning of my writings.
Besides family...who will take time to read them twice?
Have I moved, inspired and changed them in several minutes?
That could be so true by the interest they have shown in the poems
I've written and my wish is that they have found that voice!
I seek no praises or laurels for my creations with words so intuitive,
and if an ode were dedicated to me....so very honored I wouldl be!
It's not being naive...not to have realized it and be crowned with victory;
and in any respectable way they wish to remember me, it's their prerogative.

Once
My adoring eyes worked alongside my nimble fingers
To gently swaddle your tiny frame in a
Soft White shawl
Now
The same two eyes and hands check you wear you're seat belt
Before you drive off
And wave

Faraway from my motherland
Blend with the alien bands
I feel sad and lonely
My native language flees
In different horizon I stay
The sorrow stings nights and days
With dull and deaden sense
My homesick is immense
In a strange space I stay
Think to the birth-land faraway
The sweet voice of my mother
Echoes in my heart over and over

I met a woman, fell in love
She was a gift from above
Soon she became my spouse
We gathered things and set up house.
Some things were new without a flaw
Some were hand me downs from Ma and Paw
For some we saved nickels in a can
Some were bought on the installment plan.
Children came – a total of four
Two boys – two girls- no need for more
We managed to provide room and board
Did the best we could afford.
We moved around from house to house
On an adventure – me and my spouse
Gathering things to which we would cling
But we rarely got rid of anything.
Tables, chairs, couches, and beds
Cabinets and shelves taller than our heads
Mugs, pictures, and bells we did collect
Mementoes and heirlooms on which to reflect.
A man gathers a lot in over fifty years
And remembers many of them with tears
Many a thing still fills my house
But it’s not a home without my spouse.
She has a room in a retirement home
Care is provided and she cannot roam
I dreamed one day we would be old timers
But I never figured on Alzheimer’s.
Now I have a house full of stuff
Too many things - more than enough
The time has come to downsize
To an apartment in the high rise.
My children came one by one
Went through my stuff until they were done
One takes this and another takes that
And managed to do so without a spat.
Giving things away is a lonely task
My irritability I cannot mask
Gathering things with my spouse
Was more fun than cleaning out house.

Stardust and sleeping mist,
Drifting dreams on wings.
Blankets soft with comfort,
This is what it brings.
Mother's love and Father's hugs,
Echo though the night.
Sheltered by all of these,
Your future is so bright.

Young Cowboy On The Battlefield
Remembered His Mama’s Words
‘Just Make It Home, Son …’
Her Voice Echoed, As He Heard …
Rapid-Fire and Revolution
Missiles, Right and Left
Bomb-Blasts and Confusion
… and Silent Tears, He’s Wept
… Every Day, A Minefield
Every Night, A Raid
Every Moment, A Terror
Trying to Make Him Afraid …
Any Second, A Horror
Of A Buddy, Laid To Rest
Every New Tomorrow
Wondering, What’s Next ?
The Cowboy On The Battlefield
Vigilant and Brave
Stood Ramrod Tall and Terse …
Looking At Her Grave …
‘Just Make It Home, Son … ‘
… Echoed Thru His Brain
‘Just Make It Home, Son …’
… Echoed Thru The Rain
And Just Before She Was Laid To Rest
She Said, ‘Just Make It Home, Son …’
And With Those Last Words, She Blessed,
And Said, ‘I’ll Be Waiting, When You Come …’
* * * *
… Old Cowboy, On The Battlefield
Remembers His Mama’s Words
‘Just Make It Home, Son …
… and We’ll Celebrate Our Return …
Of Note: In The Words Of A Lady Rocker,
Pat Benatar: ‘Love Is A Battlefield’
(but I Say, 'Life Is A Battlefield'

When we were born we were too small to look after ourself,
since God couldnt be everywhere with us,
he made sure we were well protected and nurtured
God made sure that our demands get fullfilled,
every liitle wish was granted
we were showered with tons of love
so God created parents.
our creators,our lifeline
to protect us when we were tiny
when we could hardly understand things,
when we were learning to speak who would understand everything we tried to speak.
when we started slowly to talk they would understand the power of silence and helps us out..
to fix things when we were small that might break or fall
or simply to hold us when we would fall.
God knew we'd need somebody..
someone who would love us unconditionally,
someone who would show our mistakes and still stand for us
someone who would be gentle,
who will listen to our dreams and help those dreams come true
someone who would teach us to be brave and understand our fears and help us
they would switch roles either be our friend and stand for us through thick and thin
so thank you God for being so kind for giving such a wonderful gift.

My Mother
My mother woke up this morning, another day has appeared.
For eighty years she has woken up, six children she has reared.
Our day starts like most others, coffee toast and conversation.
Every so often she talks of life’s trials and tribulations.
She grew up on a farm with her father and mother.
Siblings she had, four sisters and two brothers.
Her father raised roosters that fought till the end,
Her mother was thrifty and knew just what to spend.
The garden to be weeded, the vegetables to be canned.
Lots of fruit to be jammed, for when summer does end.
Animals to be tended to and, many clothes hung to dry.
Her mother had no time to listen to small children cry.
Bread to be made and meals to be cooked.
Life on the farm is not as serene as it looks.
My mother grew up and she married Fred Penn.
She was only seventeen, way back then.
My mother raised her family, six children she bore.
With Fred sometimes drinking, her life was a chore.
She taught us to love, and be thankful for what we had.
She taught us even though he drank that man was our “DAD”.
Mom taught us to have strength, hardships we could endure.
She set a good example; going through hell at times I'm sure.
She stayed with Dad for sixty plus years.
He passed away in a room full of tears.
My mother is strong; she wakes up every day with a smile
She has taught me that unhappiness only last a little while.
That life goes on doing what it s going to do,
So we might as well live it,
Me and you.

Seven years have passed
since first I married him
Whence he succombed his bride
Yet when I told him of babe we’d due
it felt our love just withered up and died
For the man he changed,
no, the child we had not planned
Pushed me around until to others ashamed I lied
I’d fallen, or bumped myself again,
backed him up, supported him, everything denied.
When babe was born,
I thought we’d learn to love
Try to make things work together with pride
But now cut off from all my friends in time,
it’s nursing I only now that I must bide.
Although I raise our child
I am so sad, my life has stopped,
when they play up I fret that you will chide
and fear that you’ll know not of when to stop
Frightened, huddled close we rock, we hide.
Once grown up, at school a freedom found,
whilst you’re at work – your daily grind.
Lucky new friend we find to guide
us back to safety relieved, released.
Apart, I know head high that I had tried.

Worn-torn hands and withered, cold,
So tender grasp a tarnished cross,
Which had long the lonely nights banished-
Safe passage to some brighter song...
For He whose image that metal boasts
Was storied born this day,
And though bent the frame, still's stout
the will that would some tribute give...
No trees or festive lights adorn
This bare and bleak abode-
Nor human touch to temper want
Or abandonment abate...
Then angels came to claim their own
Whom dear had Heaven held.

Sunrise across the river, laughter going through my head,
I don't know what become of you, just a laugh away from,
Some of the things you said. I can hear the river roar.
Rocky mountain river, saw through a vocal score.
Late mournings hours with only the days heat to gain,
Watching, listening to Mother Earth play her games.
Seeing the day before me, remembering you this way,
Calms my upset unsettled thoughts that started my day.

There’s something about forty
I now see my mom and dad
As I peer into the mirror
When I’m happy or I’m sad
I see their joyful smiles
Often when I am glad
I see their frowning faces
Occasionally when I get mad
Reflections of them now
Forever on and on
They live inside somehow
For we share a common bond
I have my father’s eyes
I’ve got my mothers smile
It’s funny to see them every day
As I haven’t seen them in a while
So now, take at look at you
You’ll be amazed at what you’ll find
If you can’t see it yet, it’s true
Just give it some more time

Visiting the Home Place
By Elton Camp
I went back to see the old home place this year
For no location on earth is, to me, nearly so dear
My grandfather built the house with his own hands
Despite the passing years, I have heard it still stands
Its grounds he tended and trimmed with loving care
I hope that his shrubbery and flowers are still there
That it wasn’t the finest around I now understand
But in my memory, it was roomy and quite grand
The wide front porch where the family sat at night
The day’s work done, all seemed calm and right
Parlor with stuffed chairs, piano against the wall
How fondly, and with such detail, I recall them all
Baking prizes my grandmother won at the state fair
Now in my house and preserved with greatest care
My mother’s bedroom when she was a child
It’s where she slept, played, read and smiled
Master bedroom where my grandparents slept
All these years, their carved bed I have kept
Then the dining room with its massive table
To seat family and many friends it was able
Its shiny marigold carnival glass bowl
Was by my mother trusted to my control
I protect it on display in my house still
And, if possible, hope that we always will
The country kitchen, of treats a treasure trove
I can vaguely remember a black wood stove
The people I so loved are no longer alive
By my visit, to honor them, I will strive
The once-familiar road I drive with care
Knowing that very soon we will be there
Perhaps the ones who reside there now
Will allow us to tour the house somehow
Then, in the distance, its outline I can see
Coming closer I cry, “This surely cannot be.”
For the place that I once had loved so well
Is now an abandoned, collapsing empty shell
Where are all the flowers and shrubbery gone?
A massive oak, slowing dying, stands alone
The fine old barn where, as a child, I’d play
Has, long ago, fallen into ruin & rotted away
An old adage springs into my mind right then
One now seen true, “You can’t go home again.”
So I drive slowly on by with the greatest regret
Yet, for the memories, I remain forever in debt

Came from work, exhausted and moody,
fall is advancing with an improvised, swift pace,
but the meteorologist defies it with the happiest face;
and tomorrow I'll wake up and trot away!
Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
with a basked full of treats and a bottle of red wine,
to be consumed by the shade of an elm with my dearest;
and all the songbirds I will invite to my afternoon's feast!
We lay on the neatest blanket, facing the calmest, eastern sea
as sailboats drift by...a toddler listens to his mom's nostalgic song,
and in her tender voice that soldier's smile, on rippled waves, appears;
and tears, with a solar luster, fall on the pristine sand to recall her lost love.
Seagulls glide over to announce the close of an August's evening
still huddled in intimate embrace, the rushing waves tickle our toes,
and not minding their amusing play, we carry on and not withdraw;
before we lift the damp blanket, we are greeted by stars in throngs.
Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
a fantasy realized by two who will dream of this passionate season,
remembering our tanned faces and skin glittering with sand;
waving goodbye to the disheveled mother and trembling child.
Note: These are the observations of a happy couple spending a day on the beach,
but the happiness they felt wasn't shared by a mother and child who both missed a husband
and father; and by the sad look on their faces, gazing out to the sea...he had gone to the
Iraq War, and unfortunately had never returned home.

Run across the fair fields, as fast as you can run, the fields your grandmother ran as a young girl,
Over long lush dark green grasses, whipping your knees, soft spongy turf springs each new step,
To stop where fast flowing streams rush and dance to the wind, a sweat breaking out on your face,
All out of breath kneeling by the bank of a brook, a stitch in your side, corn waves like a gentle sea.
By the brook with childhood friends enjoying sweet company watching spring as her beauty unfolds,
To walk across wet water mead’s, seeing glades in their finest clothes, to a meadow, in full flower,
Rolling in grass making camps sitting legs crossed as warm summer breezes temper-sweating brows,
Making sure you sit next to the one you care for most, nothing will be as good as this day ever again.
Playing in the meadows where your grandmother played, picking daisies, making very long chains,
Holding buttercups up to chins to see if they shine, then laughing, shouting out loud when they do.
Playing kiss chase, slightly slowing down, when the one you want to be kissed by is chasing you,
Under old pear blossom trees, flushed rosy red cheeks sitting next the one who is your first love.
Laying in high grass chin in cupped hands, it is so special this lovely day will be yours for all time,
Just staring at friends, full of innocence and so happy, this romantic time can never be repeated,
Unplanned moments where beautiful things just happen it’s your youth just enjoy the here and now,
Where everything is brighter has more colour, smells from the meadows become a memory for life.
Laying on your back staring at turquoise watery skies, listening to the silence, a perfect sunny day,
Heaths meeting small woods surrounded by greenest carpets only seen by a child’s pure innocence,
Give your heart and soul to this day enjoy natures gifts, your end of days will recall these moments,
Falling asleep in the December of your life, this last dream your friends will be there waiting for you.
So gather these thoughts, tie them up in a bow, put them safely in a corner of yesterday’s thoughts,
And walk again with your dear young friends in those happy times golden hair fluttering in the breeze,
Back to days of cotton dresses and turned-up jeans with baggy shirts, nobody noticed or even cared,
Hold your sweethearts hand once again and run across the fair fields where your grandmother ran.

Rainbow circle never ends
Mother, sister, daughter, friend
sitting in your circle there
colorful skirts fanned
as you each braid
the other's hair
laughter's melody
fills the air
joy & anticipation
for the dance
tonight is shared
Captured now forever
image burned into
this cowboy's heart
reminding me forever
that a circle
has no end
many years
from now
this scene
will replay
Grandmother, Mother, sister, daughter
Rainbow circle
never ends

Perhaps it was the most unappreciative gift:
a pen and a composition book wrapped in red paper
imprinted with Santa image riding his sleight...
I expected toys I could play with after school or later.
My sisters received many gifts from leather shoes to wool hats,
and as I held that gift with perplexity, Mother asked me,
" Son, don't you like it? " " I like it, Ma " I replied disappointingly...
" One day they will make you great! She attested with eloquence.
" A teen like me was going to be great
with a pen and a composition book?
How could an ordinary mother have predicted the future so precisely? '
Only an astrologer, or medium could have guessed what was awaiting me!
A few years later, a revelation came to light:
a pen and composition book appeared in my sight,
there in a brown shoe box with old photographs they laid...
waiting for a hand to give them life without any magic wand.

September morning came
my beautiful little hummingbird
you must have known something
terrible was about to occur
Your life was about to be cut short….
That night I was at your side
my crying I was trying to hide
Seeing you in a helpless state
I knew you wouldn't be able to take
A vibrant and fiery person so full of life
Always willing to give and not take…
September morning I could no longer sleep
The night before I prayed my Lord your soul to take
My spirit was restless and no one's awake
I went for a drive my heart was about to break…
September morning you were all alone
As I sat in the car feeling something was wrong
my soul is in despair I can't be strong
Lord wake her and her life prolong...
September morning as I look back
You were with me that morning I felt your embrace
Your place in my heart I will never replace
Seeking my memory for the image of your face...
September morning as we looked for a special plot
suddenly a hummingbird hovered just above
giving us a sign this is were you will be laid to rest
Looking out my room all the hummingbirds hovered
offering comfort to a heart in darks cover…
September morning the Lord opened the gates
to a Beautiful Hummingbird like no other
This Beautiful Being is my Mother
never to be replaced by another.

I have found the treasure
that lies at the Rainbow's end;
surrounded by Sweet William, for-get-me knots,
and crimson shades of velvet rose.
Near the cottage of old where I was young,
the quaint charm of the English garden.
Where time has not weathered with due harm,
swirls of hued asters still in the brisk fresh air.
Moments spent dancing with cupid in midst
of a sunny afternoon.
Seconds where dreams danced on the moon,
sweet perfume floats by to wisp away my breath.
Up ahead mine eyes view the grassy slopes
where a thousand of narcissus bloom.
I watch them sway the day away tossing
their sweet perfume to the winds.
Wicker seats and ivory benches upon I sit and muse.
The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden,
a rose plot, fringed pool and serenity.
Burn the sage, the leaves of rose and wintergreen
Light the candles in the middle of the afternoon.
From within my center core I breathe for more of this
paradise near heavens view.
Sweet surrender to growing things, cupids chimes in
melody rings, for here is a heavenly peace that mirrors
my thirsty soul.
My x4 Great Grandmother was from England a Duchess but she chose to marry my X4 Great
Grandfather and lost her inheritance and rights for neglecting the wishes of the family in
England. He was a Captain of the sea and brought many to the American shores of Mass. In
reading and studying, I found she loved to write of the sea and those things she cherished
from England and growing up, from memoires, she has touched my muse and from time to time,
I let her speak of such cherished beautiful things.

I took a walk down memory lane,
My heart reliving the scenes
I visited with loved ones now gone
The ones I see in my dreams.
Each picture tugged at my heart
Some even brought down a tear
I felt a special kind of glow
For I felt each loved one near.
There was my mother alive and well
I felt the warmth of her arms
I knew that I had been loved
And kept safe from all harms.
I took a walk down memory lane...
I held my baby girl tight
She was fast asleep on my chest
Unafraid of the dark night.
The man of my dreams was there
Back when passion meant fire
I stared at his youthful face
Was once more filled with desire.
Tonight I walked down memory lane
The journey was ever sweet
I saw myself as I had been
Oh, it was such a joyous treat!
One day I’ll reach the end of the lane
That lane that is called life
And I’ll look out from a picture
A smiling mother and wife
And when she looks at my picture
I hope my daughter will smile
Remembering that she was loved
Which makes life’s journey worthwhile.

For a Mother.
she left me
with only the thoughts of her embrace to warm me
in frigid mornings of tomorrows yet to come
she left me
with her words of tender truths to shroud me
in the coming evenings of stabbing sleet and hail
she left me
yet she stays forever within me
in my waking dreams
and in my restful thoughts
she stays forever within me
she remains an abiding part
of the love
the pain
the tears
and never shall we be
truly apart

When he made
his first personal appearance
in the dirty alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad
or that my mum liked him
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our "adventures" were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.
("Wicked Cahoots" and "The Woodville Hall Soul Boys" stem from stories written in the late 1970s; while they first saw the light of day in versified form in 2006.)

I love you is more than just my words,
It is this deep down driving force of a silent sound.
Love is a magnet igniting sparks to try higher light.
Love connects beaming light twinkling at midnight.
Unmistakably, I’m assured audibly to get this heard.
I love you is more than me,
Love is pending in the depths of me I touch.
This is more than what I can realistically feel.
It is a bargainer’s deal for the sweetest steal.
Evidently, I run wild because I set it all free!
I love you is less than you,
It is an uncut gashing wound,
With lifetimes of a scored scar,
It is a typhoon of who you are,
Apparently, it is difficult to do!
I love you is less than them,
It is always lost,
It is never found,
It binds to a cost,
Hearts are bound.
I love just like you,
And you love just like me!
I swear to my God Almighty from up above my heart is pure and true!
I really do embellish everything my love is suppose to do just for you!
Forever and ever, the whole world shall open their eyes daily to see!
In lieu of this unconditional love, it is here I will always want to be!

Swaddled
in an Afghan
woven by my step grandmother's
thin spindly fingers,
I am
warmer than the womb
then the
pale yellow grey
wall paper
that
seems to surround
and wobble
like the water globe
on my dresser.
Above,
I see
my mothers face,
round,
soft,
tallow cheeks,
I want to squeeze them
pull the rosiness,
into my small palms
and eat it up.

‘ The Baby-Talk Song … ’
It’s Been 30 Years Ago …
But the Memories are Starting To Flow
Going Thru These Newborn Clothes …
Oh … How Fast Children Grow
You Were A Beautiful – Baby Boy !
That Teething Cat, was Your Favorite Toy
You Were Precious to Your Dad and Me
As Was Your First Words … in The Nursery
goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
We Tried to Get You to Say It Again
So We Could Bragg to All Our Friends
You Were The Apple of Our Eyes
Going: goo-goo ga-ga
We Loved to Hear Your Baby-Talk
Especially … at Your First Baby-Walk
Going: goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
… Laughter; Tears
Curiosity or Fears …
Always, Tell Us What You’re Trying To Say
… New Things; Mistakes
Triumphs or Heartaches
We Just Love To Hear You Anyway …
Ever Since: goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
When ol’ Burke, was Put to Sleep
You were so Hurt, You wouldn’t Speak
I Said: ‘Don’t Be Afraid To Cry …
‘Cause I’m … goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
And The First Time You Came Home High
Hanging with the Wrong High-School Guys
Daddy Explained, it to You Best …
He Helped You Get Out of Your … Mess
He wasn’t Shame and Here’s Why …
‘Cause He’s … goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
Laughter; Tears
Curiosity or Fears
Always Tell Us What You’re Trying To Say …
New Things; Mistakes
Triumphs or Heartaches
We Just Love To Hear You Anyway …
Ever Since … goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
… Pa Took Pictures of Bride and Groom
You Held Her, Like Your First Baby-Spoon !
… Now, Today … Our Family Gathers ‘Round
Overjoyed … At Your Baby’s Sounds …
goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
goo-goo ga-ga Da-Da
goo-goo ga-ga Ma-Ma
for: ('Great' Aunt –(smile) Carolyn Devonshire…
Who just told me she’s doing
Baby-Care Duty for Newborn in Family
A Precious Time Indeed
… I Dug This One Out (smile)
MoonBee

Yes, our tears stem
From your success
& your smiles
Are inspired
By our sickness,
But your nest
Must not be nourished
By the warm blood
Of my womb
& your breasts
Should not be fattened
By the flesh of sinless infants.
Even though you reproduce
Like the clouds
Of a storm
& your children
Are as countless as the seeds
Of sorrow
Whilst our little lank as the reeds
Of the brook,
You should not seek
A home
In the shells of our souls
And let your pest-offspring
Find sanity & rest
In the mad bustle of our blood
Poem 6The Girl Next Door
She hates roses
For their craft of thorns
The spirits
Found fixed abode
In her mind
And inspired her mad
When shes gone her words will
Take

War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred:
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was.
The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went,
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis,
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?
Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once was...so lovely and happy,
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?
Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries
recited with graceful whispers, gave them
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?
Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels
bend under their heavy weight and bow....
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"
Southern Italian Town: Baiano
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Kitchen window reverie
with the sun streaks flooding through the inchworm green leaves of the China Berry tree.
Walls dapple dancing
with mottled shadows mirroring the underwater sunlight ripples filtered through the fluid
sea.
Delight in my mother’s eyes
with creation on her finger tips and Russian Gypsy blood like fire in her veins
Smiling with elation at the simplest of life’s pleasures
Living within the luxury of her means.

Anxiously pressed,
and waiting by the phone,
It's 11:05 pm,
and the dark tunnel which leads from the kitchen to the library,
is brightened by a tiny desk lamp.
Work and worry form every line,
tall, tough weather keep them dry,
these hands once directed the fall fashion lines,
from the highest towers in New York City,
but now,
they are at the mercy of one teenage daughter.
"Weren't you ever as young or as carefree as me?" I ask emerging from the hall.
Turning-arms free with relief she screams,
"Why don't you ever answer your cell phone!"

Your name begins with a B,
And I’m your first baby…
I should always tell you
You’re sweet like a Bumblebee
That has a Heart of Gold.
Being as Gold as Honey.
I love you, Mommy.
I also want to tell you
To believe you are
The most pretty among
All the other Queen Bees.
You have a kind Queen’s beauty.
You’re my mother,
So Honey Mommy Day.

For most, a rose is romance.
A rose is the passion within -
The forgiving flower.
The tenderness that is, pure love.
But not to me.
A rose to me is sadness,
It’s essence and it’s scent,
I recall a painful memory -
A lonely reminder of a woman,
I never got to meet.
It’s velvet beauty surrounded her,
So pale and still she lay
My grandma.
I recall my father’s face;
The first time I ever seen him cry.
On his knees by his mother -
At her coffin.
So when I smell a rose’s love,
In retrospect, I think I understand
The beauty and the essence it demands.
For it was the rose that I remember -
and I think about her quiet face,
My Nana,
the gentle rose
The woman that brought my father
to his knees.

you were there i turned around and tryed to walk away.
the littlle boy i was babysitting wanted to go on the swings.
so i covered my face when when we got there you noticed me
you walked over to me and said i know you from work.i tryed to tell him i
only said you'r ugly because I was tricked by the girl that does not like
me. dressed up as me and walked over to you and said you were ugly.

Our Union
My eyelashes bat
After meeting your gaze
From across a
Crowded subway haze.
My pupils dilate when they
Look back at you over dinner
Where we drank wine and ate.
My feet dance with glee as we
Fall hopelessly in love
In the midst of summer heat.
My heart splits apart
To become your wife
And your forever sweetheart.
My legs spread
Open to bare new life
And see your cheeks rosen.
My arms push
You away at night,
I'm too tired for a sex life.
My fists rage and tears pour,
When I discover your arms
Embracing another lover
After coffee one early morn.
My ears listen to
Your words of regret and
Pleads for a second chance
For things to be like
When we first met.
My fingers dial
Seeking third party counsel
To repair our shattered union.
My brain waves
Shift to understand your
Thoughts and your feelings,
While I bitterly convey my own.
My hand re-opens
To forgive your sins
And make amends.
My lips part to
Receive your kiss in the
Night in a sea of
Skin in our warm bed.
My heart flutters,
We’ve truly become one,
Years after we bore our son.

I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
different in looks and behavior,
only mother understood his tremor...
when night fell and he ran inside.
An adorable child expressing curiosity,
touching everything in his path,
and those hands seemed full of creativity...
when visions lured his interest.
I hold this photograph to reminisce the grace
of that tiny toddler beginning his first, memorable race...
while his mom stretched her protective and loving arms,
ready to hug him and reward him with tons of smiles.
I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
obsorbing the vivid images and colors of the seasonal scenes...
I'd describe in my writings, to feel the essence of unreal dreams;
Oh, was I aware of my final stride?

My family loves me.
My parents wore gentle gloves
While they raised me
When I was a baby.
My mother and father
Save me from drowning
Whether in aquatic places
Or in one of my emotional despair traces.
My grandparents care for me,
Even if they rub in the truth
Too frankly and bluntly.
The bad things other say about me
Are not true.
But my family will always
Bring me through sad times.
I am glad my aunts, uncles, and cousins are mine.
My family knows me as a
One of a kind child.
They are what save me.

The power of love holds the battleground.
Nuclear blasts from sea to sea.
Wait and you will see!
Begging, kicking, and screaming:
Pleading, “Give it to me”!
Standing on God’s ground, defended by the armor and shield melting.
The power of love holds the mystery.
Things are never as they seem.
Do the means meet the extremes?
Where, how, when was I?
Wondering if it was only a dream?
Standing on God’s ground, defeated by the lock that obtains that key.
The power of love carries the only prayer.
Time to come and be done.
Soon you will be the one.
Dead, black, despair:
Hoping, will someone hear?
Standing on God’s ground, lost in the dream in which you begun.
®Registered: 1998 Ann Rich

Mother, your insanity is my blessing!
Your cry, like a creaking door,
Opens to a lawn of sour,
Your eyes, like a flame of candle,
Pierce to my heart that fails to handle.
And, your insanity is my blessing!
Because, I am not a son of your dream,
The essence that dripped out of the cream,
The life that burns as a wooden window,
The deep woods that drenched with heavy shadow,
Mother, I am not a son of your dream.
The dream of becoming a morning dew,
A song that moves a failing crew,
A dawn, a dusk and a poem with lovely words,
A canoe in search of unknown world,
And, I am not a son of your dream.
See, I am a warrior of a loosing battle,
The blood was washed through the rains that clatter,
I see the children playing on the streets,
I do not know, is it sickle or flowers for them to treat?
I am not a son of your dream and still away from your curse,
Mother, your insanity is my blessing!.

Hazel-eyed Ma grew the loveliest begonias
on her neat and colorful balcony; and if rains
were scarce, she would water them...
until the fragrant buds would bloom!
Exactly at eight o' clock, for three seasons,
she tendered for them with her caring hands;
and no weeds would mar their beauty so exquisite...
all the nuns came rushing from the Convent!
Sing, adorable mother, sing another aria...the happiest one,
as you caress your flowers with the gentlest touch;
crowds will gather underneath your festive balcony, to listen
with interest and acclaim you for your superb vocals!
Hazel-eyed Ma grew the loveliest begonias not seen
in the most spacious and elegant gardens;
she suddenly was known as the flower woman,
but also became the envy of many housewives.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Today I lived my life with ghosts
Both living and dead
Your face, their face
Slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor
Hundreds of pictures of you and them
Hundreds of moments and moments and moments
Too numerous and caught in that web of time
Dangled on a cobweb so thin, so fine
It could break but does not snap
And lasts and lasts
And holds and holds
All there, suspended in that instant
Before falling to the floor,
Or in the box of memories. To be kept.
So where do you reside, in the bin or the box?
Where do you live for future’s worth?
Will you be cut adrift or salvaged in those stepping stones to the past.
And yet, she still picked up those photos of you
Pained and dulled
Still confused and stabbed by what has happened over time.
She saw your face and paused. Reflected.
She then gently collected up those images of you and me
And saved them in the box
One day for all to see in times to come.
She decided not to put you in the bin.
Unlike me.
She rescued her childhood.
Put down a marker in the sand
And said stop to the sea
To the waves and waves
That break over time and pain
Saved you from the blankless pile of Venice and Florence
And Christmas and beaches and Barbies and laughter
And with a simple dignity
She gave you back some worth.

There Are Sounds of Ancient Thunders
There Are Sounds of Ancient Drummers
Calling … Brave Warriors
Gladiators and Warriors
And They’re Marching To The Cadence of Their Hearts’ Pounding
Marching, To The Cadence of The World’s Rage Resounding
They’re Going By The Beat of Their Heart’s Pumping
By The Steady Flow of Blood and Bloodlust, Tells Me Somethin’
… Warriors …
Courageous Warriors …
Chorus:
But, We’ve Seen These Men, Playing With Their Children
We’ve Seen These Sons and Their Laughter, I’m Hearing
We’ve Seen These Men, Loving Their Babies
And Tenderly Holding and Kissing Their Ladies
… Warriors …
Courageous Warriors …
2nd Chorus:
Oh Lord, Please Stop These Warriors’ Battle Cry
And The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Mothers and Wives
The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Little Ones’ Eyes
The Battle Cry, Coming From Warriors … When They Die
… Warriors …
Courageous Warriors …
Sticks and Stones, Swords, Arrows and Bombs
Lances, Knives, Hand to Hand Combat, Napalm
God Almighty, Oh, Thy Kingdom Come
Please Rescue Us, From The Kingdom of The Gun …
And Prophecy Is Marching – Listen, All Who Arms Bear
Warriors, Must Beat War Weapons Into Plowshares ( Isa. 2: 4 )
And When War, Is No More, Then We Will Hear
All Warriors’ Battle Cry, Will Be An Amen Cheer !
… Gentle Warriors …
Peace-Loving, Warriors …
2nd Chorus:
Oh Lord, Please Stop These Warriors’ Battle Cry
And The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Mothers and Wives
The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Little Ones’ Eyes
The Battle Cry, Coming From A Warrior’s … Last ‘ Why ? ’
… Warriors …
Courageous Warriors …
How Can Flesh and Blood, Mortal-Men, Be So Fearless, I Wonder
Are They Strengthened By Duty, Love and Honor
Facing Danger, Death and Being Torn Asunder
Sacrificing All, As A Fallen Soldier …
… Warrior …
Courageous Warrior …

I lived my youth without many friends,
yearning for a departed father so selfless,
renouncing his children for another woman over-sea,
while my mom resigned to her fate;
lamenting and denouncing his terrible mistake:
and she worked hard and prepared delicious meals,
even her outlook on life was fantastic,
but something was missing from that lovely face...
Mother, oh wonderful mother, I sympathized
with your pain and wish it would have disappeared,
so you would have enjoyed, once again, life in its splendor;
mother, oh wonderful mother, even love dies
when one is deceived by a false affection,
and father broke his promise and faced retribution...
Mom loved dad from the day she married him,
and remained faithful 'till she died whispering his name;
I stood by her bed-side and couldn't console her sadness,
or fill that space with my insignificant presence:
by that remote glance, I could see her retracing, with joyous eyes,
her happy past with daddy delighting her with his funny words
while strolling down the quietest road scented by daisies,
as blue-jays flew over their delirious heads...
Mother,oh wonderful mother, you gave me the enduring will
to withstand any storm: to survive and cope in this hell,
while living honestly and godly among thieves and sinners;
to despise prejudice with its ugly ways and be cautious
not to give in their demands when luck could have ran out on me!
I live with little, and though I desire finer things,
nothing stains my clean hand and be judged by man,
because life complements me with the trust of any friend...
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci

Oh this Sea from left to right,
How my mind gathers your visions to my sight.
You clouds stray from over here to over there,
And my lungs fill deep as they gather you into my air.
I am the neutral zone with all of my love that I share
The “Palms by the Sea” give my visions their true light!
In each I can see myself inside of a seemingly height.
The Palms by the Sea are my only solemn oath I fight!
Up inside of the tallest tree I shall surely come,
Your Earth, your Moon and your Sun I shall make them all come undone!
I am you as you breathe my life and it is your love that I shall proclaim in the moment I seize!
Up inside of you I am proclaiming my every single genuine need.
The “Palms by the Sea” guard the shores for my more, my all, or even none!
®Registered: Ann Rich 1997

Looking back remembering just where it all began,
Tiny ears, tiny nose, tiny feet and hands,
Holding me close within your arms amazed at all you see,
Do you remember how it was when you gave life to me?
No doubt we had our cuddles, much more then one or two,
These memories so far away, precious memories with you.
Years go by so quickly, childhoods been and gone,
I sometimes sit remembering my life when I was young,
The stories that you told me, the costumes that you made,
Tucking me tightly into bed while kisses were exchanged,
Making cakes for birthdays, especially for me,
Hours in the kitchen preparing for our tea,
A few things I remember, not quite sure how I do,
But all the same there memories, precious memories with you.
I’m now myself a mother, just like you are to me
I try my best in every way but their too young to see,
Just like I was back then, not seeing how you tried,
But I know now you done your best in all that you applied,
And even through our fallouts, in times we don’t agree,
I know I’ll be ok cos you’ll be standing next to me,
So know I‘ll love you always, i'm proud of all you do,
And grateful for my memories, precious memories with you.

The trees in bloom, all red and gold
Gifts from the sun, it shines so bold.
On down the road, as you can see
A place that means the world to me.
The house still stands, the weeds are tall,
That doesn't bother me at all.
When we lived there, mom, dad, and me
Could feel the love from just us three.
I grew up there without a care,
Had everything I needed.
My days were filled with mom and love,
At night , my dad I greeted.
After supper, ready for bed, we'd head for his big chair.
He'd read me me books and tell me stories, we'd visit everywhere.
As my eyes grew heavy, he'd put the books away.
He'd carry me off to my room, and listen while I'd pray.
All that happened years ago,
They're both gone now, you see.
But I remember all the love
My mom, my dad, and me.
Life of stress has brought me back
To sit and reminisce.
Of home, and mom, and dad, and me
The things I dearly miss.

I savor my high
off like a kite.
Then it plays tricks on me
but it is alright
I like to get high
because it gets a response from you.
Instead of neglect there is re-hab.
So go on and hit me for a step in mud.

Glow
Look at me!
My body’s
Fresh, new
And shapely too!
Watch me bloom
Like a wild red rose,
Watch my character
And confidence
grow,
grow
and grow
As I become a
Glowing beautiful woman
That everyone wants
To know.
Watch my life take
Flight to places
That are unknown.
The world’s my
Open book,
Now let me
Start my
Amazing story!
I’m ready
To go,
Watch me glow.

You gave me the gift of life and brought me into this world
You loved, taught and guided me threw the challenges of life
In my heart you will always be my number 1 girl
You have always taught me what was wrong from right
Through the years some of the best lessons i have learned was from your
sacrifice
You have given so much for your beliefs
You have always ben fair and our talks have ben nice
I just pray you will get some relief
To you my mother who i owe my life to
I would like to thank you for always being there
And mom I never can tell you enough that I love you
Or show you enough that I care

Oh Gentle winds purify me
Free my doubts so i can see
The luminious light
And escape the darkness night
Oh Mother Earth i feel your cry
Nature's voice begin to die
I know im still here
But i still love you, have no fear
Through the Clouds
and beyond
Hear my calls in my mind
I will protect you even if im blind
My love for you will always stay
I will pray for you everday
And give you my all
With my Heart And Soul

Which kids long to hear a sweet lullabye...
when they are cuddled up in their beds,
when the vagrant moon won't shine on them to make them sigh?
Would you say they are those being loved by caring parents?
Not at all...orphans with many needs do!
They have dreamed of that mellow sound
as long as they can remember, and 'though they were fearful infants,
those memories were recalled vividly by their mind;
and they are very sad and unforgettable, too...
ask them about their disappointment, you'll surely witness their tears!
Orphanages aren't great places for children to dwell in,
and frustration and anger echo within those walls of silent pain,
where the outside world cannot hear them and alleviate them...
but curious faces peek through window screens and dream!
Let's sing them a sweet lullabye, so that they can sleep
under a vigilant moon and begin weaving their dream;
let's give them a memorable night as the nightingales revere their smiles
as they mimic that melody to make their young hearts rhapsodize!
Let's sing them a sweet lullabye, not just for one night, but for many...
and would they want to turn back time and be solicitous and solitary?

If Aiming For Beauty
Pretty, Is Nice
But Plain Vanity
Is A Venal-Vice
Inner Beauty: Is A Necessity
Outer Beauty: (Maybe) Superficiality
Outer Beauty: May Impress Memory
But Inner Beauty: Lasts An Eternity
Now, As A Teen
I Did Preen
Too Much Esteem
Oldest, Sister Seen …
So, As A Teen, I Was Told
Advice To Shape- Mold
Words: Worthy-Gold
Listen: Behold …
“You Are Pretty, Yes It’s True
But Just Wait A Minute or Maybe Two
All In Time and Life’s View
Will Come Someone … Prettier Than You
So, Don’t Be A Victim-in-Error
Like The Queen, due to Snow White and A Mirror
Of Course, There’ll Be Somebody Fairer
So, Don’t Be A Silly-Comparer …
… ‘Cause, The Prettiest Person
Is Ugly To Someone
And The Ugliest Person
Looks Good To Somebody, Hon …
Lovely, Is As Lovely Do …
Be A Portrait and Not Just Surface-Cute
Be A Shame, If Someone Spends Time With You
And Sees, Ain’t Nothing Else, Or Nothin’ New
‘Cause I’ve Seen People
Who Were ‘Knock-Outs’ ! …
That is, Until
They Opened Their Mouths
And Revealed Hostility
In Hearts
Made Attraction-Desirability
… Depart
See: Mean and Envy
And A Barb-Wire Tongue
And Harm and Dumb …
Starts When Young
So, Strive To Be Kind
A Gentle Heart-Smile
Clean and Sweet
And Your Own-Love-Style
… Also Godly Fear
And Inner Beauty Will Appear
Your Outer Beauty Will Be Clear …”
… My Stunning Sister, I Still Hear …
“Beauty … Is In The Eye Of The Beholder”
Especially True … As We Grow Older
(I'm Remembering Jenny ... I'm Remembering)

The last time he said he loved me,
The only time saying it on his own
The only time I could really see
He thought being with me was where he belonged
The day a distant memory
I will always see so clearly
Because we will always share a bond
So I may never hear his voice again,
Or remember how hard I cried
Because I knew we were only what could have been,
And we had a love that would die
Once I thought there'd be a different ending
Much different than the one I know now
Never knowing I'd end up spending,
Every day a new beginning,
With a daughter he'll never know anything about

The real-life picture of mom,
hanging in the neat and cosy living-room
gleams like the smile of Mona Lisa;
her hazel,cheerful eyes radiate
when there isn't enough light to compensate,
her brown hair matches the red gardenia
in the rosy,intrinsic background,
hiding a mistery yet to be found..
If Leonardo Da Vinci created that painting
to satisfy his self-gratification,
I invent words,in a different time,
to describe her gracefullness
with a deserved adulation;
a mother who never achieved great awards
or prouded herself of independence;
love,patience,endurance and indisputable faith
were the virtues that made her so unique,
and none of those implied criticism...
Very often when I'm overtaken by sadness,
she towers over me like an impregnable fortress:
with the confident smile of a Mona Lisa,
so spontaneous without a sign of malice...
to break the silence of an unspoken voice;
to inspire and motivate me again with thoughts
that lay dormant until they awake again
on the battered waves of my imagination...

In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple,
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies,
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!
The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year...
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!
God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!
Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!

From your senses, have you taken leave?
What you have told us is hard to believe.
We were all sorry when your mother passed away.
You met her again when you went car shopping today?
She came back as a 1928 Porter.
You drove her home to show your wife, son, and daughter.
Are you sure it was not your imagination?
There are some people who believe in reincarnation.
It seems strange to come back to earth as a car.
Of all the things in the world, that sounds quite bizarre.
Well, that is a weird scene, David Crabtree.
You are being pursued by Captain Manzini.
He chases after you during day and night.
He wants the car, and never gets your name right.
I know you are happy that your mother is alive.
However, the public did not seem to care in 1965.

A walk on the beach
Feeling the warm sand between your toes
The smell of the salt air
Sounds of the waves crashing ashore
Finding a old love letter from your husband
Filling you with memories
A summer breeze blowing in your hair
Feeling the arrival of fall
Laying in bed thanking God for his blessings
The sound of your Grandmother singing gospel songs
As she rocks in her chair
My most precious memory
It's the little things that you treasure

Oh ladies, where I can find all you now? Oh babies, why
Does my telephone always bow? Oh Daddy, I'm so tired Teddy,
Mammy with breakfast shall come! 2 hours amounts to fly
From the Biarritz, you 2 in Miami and waiting for sunny,
Good weather and pizza, we too now in the Vegas 'I budem
Zhenitsa!' In Russian? In Russian! In English? In English!
Some marriage not long ceremony, 2 horses, little Alpha
Romeo, US Air Forces music all day long till her Mother's
Mobile would ring telephone! Her company on the Mississippi
Must ask her 2 times: who are on Earth more beautiful,
More pretty and is the activist of the Womens' Committee?
And you must answer: yes, I know her, she is my daughter,
17 years old and the instrumental music studio 2 days hold,
2 rock-n-roll bands, I was there at the cocktail playing
The piano by 4 hands! Sorry, it is maybe from our ladies
E-mail about new story in which we are not only the famous
Philanthropical Society of Glory but also happy end of all
Victims of mafia from the hotel sitting in the new Concert
Hall of our second class town reconstructed now jail...

She watched him take her away
This child she'd given birth to
She watched her nurse the first time
Feeling it through and through
She watched her take her first steps
With fear and joy alike
She watched her walk in the school
And learn to ride her first bike
She watched her talk on the phone
And fix her makeup just right
She watched her put on the dress
And go to her first prom night
She watched her walk across the stage
With pride and many tears
She watched her pack for college
And remembered the early years
She watched her put on the veil
And gave her something new
She watched him take her away
This man she was married to.

Chimney
Remember when we was small
Growing up in ste Madeleine
Going down the line
And by the pond now and then
Like the long Palm lace street
That leads to the sugar factory gate
We would play all-day
An always come home late
The first time I smoke a cigarette
My grandmother said
She says if god wants you to smoke
He would put a chimney on my head
Time will come and go
But words will least forever
Every thing she said
Was SO SMART AND CLEVER
And as I journey thru age
My mind are so occupied
With the needs of every day life
Trying to keep my soul satisfy
And some times I would look up
At the stars so bright
And wonders if my grandmother
Knows I’m thinking of her tonight
I am sure you all remember
A grand mother’s word to
And when you think of it now
You know it’s true
One time on a cruise
When the ship’s whistle blow
I look up at the chimney
An remembers her words long go
Now I try to play tricks
With way she use to talk
Use it everyday outside
When I go for my little walks
Now I use her Philosophy
To every thing around me
And put her Terminology
To Work for all to see
If god wanted us to fight wars
He wouldn’t give us hands
Will give us grenades, and guns
And imprint our face with war plans

THE SUNDANCE KID
Lively bursts of sudden air arise out of my sighs of rushed venom-
-out pops my eyes.
I can't believe my sight--I see my kid in Sundance dance,
all eager to please and pump.
The courage gives the love, it lives, it's alive
it's spreads out of his body, only five.
While he's flying off the ground I think to myself, he's got to be kidding around.
What's up is love and freedom and dancing in the sun.
My son lit, light bright and orange yellow streaks coming out of his being.
He's just being a kid, right?
He kicks up his small, brown stamped leather boots,
with little blue jean jeans and his red bandana shirt.
His hat on his head is cowboy suede and he yelps,
"I am the Sundance Kid, and rain drops keep falling on my head", as he falls into
the muddy dirt.
I swirl and twirl, my brain rambling, and blankly stare in strange glaring curiosity.
"How does he know who the Sundance Kid is?" "How does he know Raindrops
Keep Falling On My Head?"
And just as I am pondering the mysteries of a child's consciousness, a bicycle
built for two rides by and the rain begins to pour in front of my panicked,
frightened astonished adult face. My child begins to sing "Raindrops Keep
Falling on My Head" and I hear the sound of music.
Marla Stone

It's this feeling I carry in the back of my soul
always feeling it there though I don't often show
that your voice is my voice and I long for your eyes
to light up, set to twinkle, unburden my skies
I miss you as someone to never be missed
I miss you like words on unlistable lists
Too grand to call mountains, too young too call old
I miss you like summer to winter's unfold
It's this feeling I carry, kaleidoscope see
I carry you with me. Do you carry me?
Through eyes with no twinkle and tongues with no words
do you hear me still? or has silence occurred?
I know you as someone I'll just always know
I know you regardless of words spoken, so
in this sad revelation I offer you still
that I feel you now with me and I always will.

The affectionate mother, whom I loved has long left
her earthly dwelling to flee
to a Paradise extrasensory peaceful;
and surrounded by angels,
she tenderly flashes an effulgent smile and looks upon
me and whispers many prayers
for a son whose face is her total resemblance!
And in me her noble soul lives with a sweetness,
which has made me forgotten that there's death...
by rekindling that maternal memory!
Before I go to sleep, I reflect on my day that has passed without dire...
by staring at a portrait, which makes her facial expressions
seem so real like when she eloquently spoke, glimpsing into tomorrow;
I'm wishing for tears to fall, but none do...too numerous tears
have her child's eyes shed to empty themselves of their sorrow!
Why cry and induce more mourning...when glory has awarded her a halo?
She endured much, and said little, to strengthen me with her example,
and will harsh winters lash me with their furious winds, no fright...
no discouragement can overwhelm me and make me shiver and tremble;
violent storms extirpate trees, fears won't uproot what I extol!
Extraordinary was her motherly love: intense and insuperable,
to build me up when my confidence was down and I refused to have fun;
and if I felt miserable, she mollified my misery, grief and sadness,
to never let me lose my momentum, to miss out on a great, indelible moment!
Showing my mistrust intensified the tone of her vocal chords...
low esteem wasn't another kind of modesty, just a lost milestone!
Secular and firm...and yet divine, was her faith emboldening me;
emerging in the form of a lovely rainbow to brigthen my obscurity!
I longed for affection, hoping it would have been long lived...as that love so tangible,
which still guides my footsteps to rekindle that maternal memory!

Sweet reminisces
In my Sun drenched yard
There they are, in the distance
Like magic to me
You see I was so wee
Purple darlings
Chirping near by are the starlings
I could hardly reach
But I must pick one each
For hopes and smiles
Mother will find these so worthwhile
Fragrance from heaven
Here we go “I got nine no ten, maybe eleven”
Lilacs in a bunch
I’ll bring them to her at lunch
And please her so
After all I love her you know

Big blue trunk,
It's always there.
We don't notice;
We don't care.
This afternoon,
I feel a tingle,
But in the trunk
We dare not mingle.
With a brother
By my side,
We open it and
Look inside.
We find things from
Another world,
Things that were once
A little girl's.
Toys in the trunk
Are smelling old:
Yell'wing posters
Tightly rolled;
Candy wrappers
Make a chain;
Children's books,
Lessons to gain;
Painting of a
Scarecrow field;
Packages that
Still are sealed;
Pretty dolls (but
Broken faces);
Memories that
Time erases;
Stuffed animals (once
Held so tight):
Many a kitten,
Fur so white.
Simple things
That used to be
Waited in this
Trunk for me.
In this room that
Is my brother's
We found the trunk
I know is Mother's.

Robin,
like last leaf
of autumn,
clings
to a velvet
rose. Ah,
such a lovely
scene, from painted
prose of God,
the Unseen-
of which thru his artwork
reminded me of
a child
holding sweet mama,
‘til he was being
breezed away
into manhood, by the thrilling
wings of her olden days.

So I'm slithering along the hallway
and all the lights are out
I come upon Mom and Friend
ignoring the man that shouts
He bangs upon the door
he begs, he implores
we stiflle our laughter
he hears, he begs more
I'm certain I shouldn't be a witness to these events
as a child nearly adult, I'm hard to convince
Hell no, I'm not going back to bed
I need to know why he's out of his head
Mama and Friend can barely contain
their fear and glee for this man's pain
I am breathless, enthralled at "Their " power
to rob a man of what he thinks of "His" power
then Friend departs with Mr. Pain on his plane, so regal
she soon calls to report he's illegal
finally she returns to her kids, to us, her dogs
I was skulking around when she told mom
"Thank God".

Fading images on the distant street,
walking and gesturing conversation.
In a neighborhood of quiet shadows,
and a receding soft afternoon’s feel.
A mother calls her children to supper,
a screen door slams, a distant train whistle.
A warm breeze carries the scent of mowed grass,
as stray leaves dance along the narrow street.
I sit quietly watching from my steps,
a worn mitt and rubber ball in my hands.
Cool sweat on my face from bouncing and grab,
transistor radio dialed to baseball.
A front porch swing rocking a daydreaming girl;
her soft shy smile catches my attention.
A distant neighbor hand trucks his trash cans
out to the street for morning pick up wait.
Looking back, I see a now empty swing.
From the front door, my mother calls me in.
I stand wiping my face with my shirt sleeve,
glove and radio in hand, I retreat.
The day ended, but not the memory,
photographs forever in my mind’s eye.

As I dress my self for the special day.
I whisper a prayer to help me along the way.
Looking in the mirror at my mothers beautiful dress.
She lovingly sewed together, so I could look my best.
My beloved is a mystery just for that special hour.
I smile to myself as I gather my bouquet of flowers.
The music plays, as I walk down the aisle with my father.
He winks at me, after giving me away to another.
Family gathers tissues and a hush covers the place.
As we exchange vows, he gathers me up into a loving embrace.
I barely heard the words "you may kiss your bride".
My husband raised my veil, kissed me tenderly as I cried.
We are now as one, united in holy matrimony, thus begins our path.
Together we will take on each day, enjoying each other as if was our last.

She came to me one hot summer afternoon.
At 1206 topped with fiery hair and a little white tuff.
Silent cry. Nervous was I when they gave her to me. A little cherub with fragile wings Blue eyes open wide and wild. Smile upon lips
Body no bigger than an afterthough.
Tiny little thing almost a dream, all perfect and new.
Her day was that of Emancipation
Cried to be freed of shackles other babes paid no mind.
Arms could not be swaddled to her sides.
Shrugging shoulders as hands she opened and closed as if to clutch the air about her.
Isabella, warrior child, to speak your name invokes all that is good and pure. Wept did I the night that you did not wake me at half past three.
Just you and me in the dark, wrapped in blankets, our quite time.
Elegant angel baby determined and strong
My binder to this world keeper of my heart and soul.

I remember when you
Were just a baby
When I could hold you in my arms
And rock you to sleep
Over the years as you grew
You were a little handful at times
We laugh about that now
Part of me loves to watch you grow
And become more independent
Another part of me wants you
To stay my little girl forever
Sometimes I feel so frightened
For I dread the day that you will
No longer need Mommy to
Kiss your boo boos to
Make them better
I dread the day that you will no longer
Need Mommy to hold your hand
When you cross the street or
Give you kisses when I tuck you in at night
I will mourn your childhood years
Because it will be the ending
Of a time when you thought
I was the greatest Mommy
In the whole world
I will miss the times when we
Blasted the CD player
And danced around the living room
I will miss taking you shopping for
New clothes for school
I will miss our "girls day out"
When we would go to Dillards
And spend a whole day
Getting our hair done
I wish these days
Could last forever
Because no matter how old you get
You will always be my baby
In my heart you will always
Be my little girl forever

Suddenly, I would give anything to be near you.
I would buy back our old house, broken down, dilapidated.
Loquat trees and rainbows removed.
Hammocks and honeysuckle given to the wind.
But where would you be?
Would you visit me in dreams as I slept in a room that was only yours?
The light from long gone sleeping limbs of rain trees
still dancing their shade in my dreams in a reflection of all that you loved?
Where would you be?
I could walk the same streets I walked as a child.
The asphalt sighing relief to be near my steps again.
Neighbors, long dead, still quiet in bleached white houses.
Gardenia bushes still tempting me to wear an ornament behind my ear,
to brown the white flesh of flowers.
But where would you be?
I could climb our old roof and sunbathe two strokes nearer to a solar universe
than ever before.
I could plug my ears with music and close my lids to the orange orb
and dissolve.
Dissolve into 16 years old.
Dissolve into safety, undoing the jaded burns of sorrow on my lips.
But where would you be?
Loquat trees window me in a just a short bloom.
Fruitage to be savored before it reaches sunstroke.
Rainbows, too, pass by with the wave of the sprinkler.
I could jump through, soaking wet, at age 10,
stringy hair and naive smile shining.
But, where would you be?
Hammocks leave their dreams to their occupants,
just an empty netted carcass without human weight.
The sweetest honeysuckle only knows hummingbirds in secret
as it bids them fly before our eyes tether their wings.
So, now, I ask you in pleaded breath, where would you be?
Perhaps, the street.
They could tear down your house, my house, the safety of a universe gone by,
strip it of it's trees and it's ability to produce life,
and the street would still remember you.
Sunflower seed shells tossed to it's skin.
Thorns of bougainvillea's washed down it's drains.
Your DNA somewhere still alive in a crevice cracked from a summer torrential downpour
where your footsteps smiled soaking wet.
Perhaps, it would all be worth it.
I will shake myself awake at half past seven.
I will bulldoze my own insignificant sorrow,
my own living in past dreams,
my own inability to cope with a future devoid of your laugh,
and I will find you, among the many layers of the skin I call my own.
And tonight, with the remaining half of my heart in my hands,
I'll meet you on our street for one last evening walk.

I just found out, not sure it’s real,
Jail chaplain told me, to numb to feel.
My stomachs churning, heart has sunk,
I can’t believe, am in a funk.
Should have been there, made you go,
Sometimes I wonder, did you know.
Think you gave up, when Nana left,
Then with Pappy, and all their theft.
All you did was hide and grieve,
I finally had to up and leave.
I screwed up, by falling down,
No turning back I’m almost drown.
I cannot breath just want to hide,
Wanted to be there, by your side.
Wish I could have, said goodbye,
I never thought, that you would die.
Just leave this earth, now heaven bound,
Without a word, not one sound.
Last words I heard, message on my cell,
Good luck sweetie, I wish you well.
I love you too, wish I could show,
Would take it back, would let you know.
No matter what, you’re “MY PERFECT MOM”!!!
2/23/06
In loving memory of the one person who forgave me no matter what and loved
me unconditionally.
Judith Ann Celayir
August 8, 1945 – February 22, 2006

Why?
How?
Can you leave me standing,
Alone,
Afraid,
And not shed a tear,
Or
Even bother to look back.
Or
Think of what you've left,
Or
What you had.
Could you even know of all that I have given?
The blood shed.
The soul lost,
Forever,
To a darkness unknown
Inhabited by creatures better left unnoticed.
Foul.
Fetid.
Deadly.
This is my legacy??!??!
This is what you gave me?
This,
Is what I have to offer!!
But,
Can it change?

D’you enjoy the rhyme-
the name game o’ my soul
as it dances, childishly
in the crazy rain?
D’you hear the call-
the craving
o’ my word, as it cries out loud
across the road?
D’you feel the touch-
the lonely tears
o’ a poem as it runs down the night
wanting to be dried, by you?
If-
all these concern you,
why haven’t
you return the thousand rings I made?
Come, O come home soon
dearest mommy o’ mine
‘cos Daddy doesn’t know-
how to sing sweet lullabies o’ thine!

On the tip of my memory,
of a time so distant
sitting at kitchen table
watching my mother.
She was cooking one of her
fine meals, as she always did
remembering how young,
she was.
Miss those days of old,
when we would just talk
of her telling me of her youth,
now I'm older than she was then.
All of this just on tip of
my memory, so long ago
as days go by, memory fading
away to days so distant.

August the month of daddy's birth and death
Went to the cemetery today
It is a very lovely place
It sits upon a grassy knoll
A place just right for a stroll
Rural America, once the home
Of a country church
Where the congregation met much
No longer exists today..gone
Across the road fenced in
A donkey he-hawed a din
To let us know that we had kin
Buried there, where he overseed
The comings and goings
Of all that grieve
By day and by night
In the moonlight
All the ghost who
Roam about waiting
For that glorious shout
When we all will be gathered
To the heavenly choir
To sing God's praise
By the hour
Never tiring filled with desire
To worship together
Forever in the heavenlies
(I believe that when we die our spirit goes on to heaven not stay in the ground. Only our
body stays there and awaits the trumpet sound. This is just a poem about going to the
graves of my parents yesterday. Mostly it is true. It is a Rhyme somewhat.)

The dark rain falls upon the world
And drowns the stifled cries,
And bathes with faithless vision
The grieving parent eyes;
And in it’s cold descending
And it’s desolate decision
Cuts the very cord of life
With a hand of God precision.
The pieces that are scattered
Are emotions in that rain,
Bled of designation,
Swirling down a silent drain;
And as the night approaches
And the light invites stagnation,
All the trains grind to conclusion
At a cold and empty station.
The dark rain is an emblem
And a harbinger of death
Yet our love is great, defying
Any stilling of the breath;
For the short time we remember
Puts an end to grief and crying
The short time that you had
A timeless source of love undying.

Tangerine shells, hollowed of pulp
left out to dry like pumpkin debris
Surinam cherries, peppered with bite
red juicy flesh, but mostly just seed
Sky line of rain trees, cloud chomping blue
to eat up my dreams and float me to sea
But, mostly there's you, laughing with eyes
that right now resemble the woman in me
I'm not a fool, to live in these dreams
balmy and breathing the salt in the air
I've given up all of my conjuring thoughts
smashing up memories 'till you appeared
Tangerine shells, skin of my skin
now part of the soil at a home that's not ours
Leveled of trees, blown to the ground
Lifetime of growth stripped to earth in but hours
Still, mostly there's you, laughing with eyes
listening strong as I storied my dreams
I'm not a fool, with wisdom defunct
but there's no leveling me by my memory's decree.

She shivers with thoughts
and asks for fleece
to cover her ears, her neck
her eyes.
Sinking into the comfort of skin
she wilts.
She weeps.
It's these thoughts when
the rest of the world is smiling
that are the coldest.
They knock in synapse rhythm:
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Faster and faster 'till the freezing begins.
Occasionally, the tears start at old movies,
or commercials (if they're really good),
but mostly they just wait for the persistent memories.
The war.
Hospital stays where no one came to pick her up.
A mother who spoke of love only with disgust on her lips.
The piano keys turning electric under her fingers
to match her wailing, note by note.
Lost love.
Lost people.
Lost family.
Lost.
It's in a warp of time she weeps for better days.
Minutes dream of her 'till she grows still,
the shaking quieted.
After these thoughts, after warmth, after tears,
after stuffing the synapse strings back behind doors,
closing them tightly, but without anger
after becoming still,
the blood returns to finger tips and smiles
and she uses her quick fix to repair her world.
The waves on every beach which know her footprint.
The birth of her only child.
The purr of her favorite cat as he shares her sunflower seeds
and drinks her beer out of the bottle cap.
Music, ah music, which unravels out of her depths in composition gifts.
Pure love.
Pure people.
Pure family.
Pure.
Emerging tired, but triumphant, over herself,
she folds up the fleece and rejoins the here and now
and picks up the phone to call her daughter,
with only moments having past,
once again cleansing cathartic history.

Delicate hands fly
across keys of lacquer white
Piano bends for you
does your will, sings until you tire
I'll be beside you
turning the yellowed pages
Sipping the music
the finest of wines for my sponge of a mind
Moon peaks out at you
curtains pulled to let her hear
her children stars dance
to your swaying soul, I'll never grow old
with your memory my fingers inherited wealth...